


Consequences

by Nindragon



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: A+ Parenting, Alistair Fitz - Freeform, Alistair Fitz' A+ Parenting, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Blood and Injury, Canon Compliant, Depressed Fitz, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Exhaustion, F/M, For the most part, Friendship, Frustration, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Heavy Angst, Hurt Leo Fitz, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Injury, Leo Fitz Feels, Leo Fitz-centric, Leo Needs a Hug, Major Character Injury, Nightmares, Overworking, Protective Melinda May, Seizures, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, fear dimension, how does no one notice how depressed he is in the show tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2019-07-14 03:49:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 39,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16032374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nindragon/pseuds/Nindragon
Summary: No one realized how broken Fitz really was until it was too late.He's more injured from Ruby than he lets on, but when another fear anomaly manifests and something worse happens, will they be able to help him recover?----------Fitz takes a deep breath scrunching his eyes shut. He fumbles with pulling his jacket, ripping it from his shoulders and shivering as the cold air hits his sweat-soaked dress shirt. Only then do they see the dark splotch of blood covering the side of his shirt."Whoa whoa whoa, is that blood?"Daisy whips her head around, hoping Mack's not talking about who she thinks he is.No such luck.----------(Tag for 5.18 and 5.19 whump and hurt/comfort, plus friendship fixing ensues. Rated T for blood, injuries and some dark themes. Cross-Posted on FF.)





	1. Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Here's a little hurt/comfort for our boy that deserves so much better. There's a surprisingly small amount of Fitz-centric stories on here and I couldn't help but make episodes 5x18/19 whumpy. I also can't believe that he didn't have more serious health problems after all the jabs to the torso took.
> 
> I also felt the need to remedy his relationship with some of the team, because I think they treated him too harshly in the show. I mean, after Daisy was swayed by hive and did all those terrible things as well as betraying her team and becoming a merciless vigilante, they forgave her like it was nothing. But when Fitz made one bad choice to SAVE THE WORLD they treat him horribly!
> 
> deep breaths*
> 
> Okay, rant over. Sorry about that lol. And to all the Daisy fans, don't get me wrong, I don't hate Daisy; I don't fully condone Fitz's actions either but I just get annoyed with her sometimes, okay? So no flames, please!
> 
> Obviously, it will vary from canon a little bit, so don't be shocked if it doesn't go like the episode, or if there are small changes in details. Also, this probably won't be more than 5-6 chapters.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Agents of Shield (If I did, season 6 would be coming out now instead of July of next year.) I'm not a doctor so all of the medical mumbo-jumbo you see is what I've learned from the internet and tv shows.
> 
> Also, if you happened to read that whole thing you get a cookie, sorry for such a long author's note though.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

* * *

_"I remained too much inside my head, and ended up losing my mind."_

_— Edgar Allan Poe_

* * *

**Part I**

Nine times.

Fitz was hit nine times with Ruby's superhumanly strong fist.

And Jemma had to stand there and watch every single punch meet its mark without being able to do a thing.

Sure the person who did it is now dead, but that doesn't mean Simmons still can't be bent up about it. As for right now, they have new problems to attend to. Coulson is back but, Talbot has been brainwashed, Polly is unconscious, and General Hale has disappeared to God knows where. At the moment the bad seems to be outweighing the good.

The group is in the Zephyr getting away from that dreadful facility and heading back to the Lighthouse. Jemma goes straight to Fitz but he brushes her off.

"Go help Yo-Yo, I'm just tired." He says as he sits down on the opposite row of seats that line the walls of the plane. He wipes at his face with his sleeve, trying to clean off the dried blood that was previously flowing from his broken nose. Daisy comes over with her  _serious face_ and plops down in the seat furthest from the group. Obviously still agitated with them.

Fitz leans his head back and tries not to think about everything. He closes his eyes and lets sleep overtake him.

He feels like he closed his eyes for only a second when the Zephyr hits a bout of turbulence, jarring everything inside. Fitz awakes with a gasp of pain, startled. He sucks in a sharp breath of air and reminds himself that he's safe. His ribs throb in time with his face and he feels hot and sweaty and all he can smell is the overwhelming coppery stench of blood that coats the inside of his nose and—

"All right, I don't think this will need stitches as long as you don't push yourself," Jemma says, after cleaning Yo-Yo's head wound, effectively snapping Fitz out of his trance.

"Thanks, but I don't think I'll be doing much without my arms," Yo-Yo replies sardonically. Fitz had taken her prosthesis off as soon as they boarded the Zephyr as to not cause her any more pain.

"It'll be alright. Once we get to the Lighthouse Fitz is going to adjust them right away." Jemma assures her, glancing over at him.

' _Poor thing. His ribs are probably agonizing.'_ She thinks to herself.

Once Jemma finished up looking after Yo-Yo, she glides over to the bench on the other wall of the plane where her husband is sitting and takes her place beside him. As soon as he feels her presence his head unconsciously finds its way to her shoulder, using it as a pillow. She reminisces about all the times the position was the other way around.

She feels his body trembling against hers, but can't tell if it's from exhaustion... or something worse. She hopes it's the former. He hasn't slept in days, and she can barely get him to eat anything. She cards her fingers through his soft curls as he sleeps, willing him to get the rest he needs.

By the time they reached the Lighthouse Fitz was out of it. He kept twitching in his sleep which was disconcerting, but he was sleeping nonetheless. Simmons hated having to wake him, but they had work to do. Just as Jemma was about to wake him, Daisy is walking over to the exit and slams her fist on the red button, opening the cargo door— and effectively jolting Fitz out of his restless slumber.

"I'm awake— I'm fine." He says quickly.

Daisy just keeps walking in the opposite direction without looking back. Fitz runs his hands over his face and lets out a shaky breath before shooting out of his seat. Jemma grabs his arm.

"Let me look at you. Ruby hit you pretty hard..."

"I'm okay, Jemma. I can tell it's only a cracked rib." He responds, "I mean... I've had enough experience to know it's not... completely broken." He elaborates disconcertingly.

He gives her a quick kiss on the head saying, " _Trust me_ , I'm alright." and grabbing Yo-Yo's prosthetics, striding to one of the Lighthouses corridors.

And for the first time since they met... she didn't trust him.

oOo

For a long while, Jemma and Elena just sit on the plane seats in silence. Taking comfort in each other's presence. Yo-Yo goes to stand up but starts to lose balance, making Jemma shoot up to help her. Yo-Yo sighs in exasperation and looks at her amputated biceps.

"Don't worry, it shouldn't take Fitz too much longer to calibrate your prosthesis. Let me go check on them for you." Simmons offers, and pads away to see how close Fitz is to fixing them. What she didn't expect was to hear raised voices arguing from the workshop.

"—ing to help. I helped developed this tech, and I think I've figured out the adjustment patterns to factor in her speed. I'm almost finished with the calibration, I just need to tweak the senso—"

"Yeah, we all know by now that you helped make these robots." Mack cuts him off. "I can figure it out the rest without your help! Right now you need to get back to your cell and wait until we can sort this out with Coulson!"

"Enough!" Jemma shouts, effectively shutting both of them up. She walks forward so that she's standing between an exasperated Fitz and angry Mack.

"This is not the time to be fighting one another!"

Both men stepped away slightly flustered. She was speaking to both of them, but in actuality, she was defending Fitz. He wasn't doing anything wrong! She looked between the two for a moment. Mack had on his usual stony demeanor; only the furrowing of his brows to show any hint that he was angry.

Fitz, on the other hand, looked like he was about to drop.

He had paled considerably since she last saw him, which is saying something— save for the purplish red bruises on his cheek that give a stark contrast. And now that she's really looking, he definitely seems thinner than he was at the diner, or even a few weeks ago.

Thin beads of sweat are gathered at his forehead and there is a slight tremor in his hand as he wipes them away.

"I'm sorry," Fitz mutters tiredly, squeezing his eyes shut, and it breaks Jemma's heart.

"I'll take it from here," Mack says, more subdued. "Come with me. You need to get back to your cell."

"I can't let you do that," Simmons interjects.

"Jemma, please." Fitz pleads. She looks into his eyes, and can read them as if he's saying  _'this is how it has to be'_.

"I'll be fine."

Mack gestures in front of him, signaling Fitz to move and Jemma tilts her head in defeat as she watches the taller man lead her husband away like he's nothing more than a common criminal.

'How did we come to this?' She wonders. Fitz and Mack used to be best friends, and now after one mistake, it's as if they're adversaries.

In truth... Mack doesn't know how to deal with all the crap going on. He's just doing as he's told, and he was told by the acting director— Daisy— to keep Fitz locked away until she or Coulson says otherwise. A part of him doesn't want to do this, but he knows Fitz is still somewhat unstable. Mack's thoughts are interrupted when May stops them just as they turn the corner.

"Hey, we just gathered the other SHIELD operatives. Coulson wants Fitzsimmons to try and prep the Zephyr for space before a briefing in 20." May informs them in her usual clipped, professional sentences. Fitz looks between May and Mack in a silent question of confirmation, to which the female agent gives a curt not. "You," She points to Mack. "with me."

Mack glances at Fitz once more before leaving the room with May. As soon as he gets out of sight, Fitz's posture slacks and he allows his walls to come down ever so slightly. He still going to keep up his appearance in front of Jemma, as to not make her worry even more than she already is. He places his arm on the wall to steady himself, taking a deep breath and steeling himself, before making his way back to Jemma.

His stomach does a backflip as sudden nausea rises, and he makes his way to the bathroom as quickly as he can without alarming anyone he passes by.

He has only enough time to lean over a trash can in an obscure corridor, before painstakingly losing his stomach contents. The retching jars his ribs and his vision whites out

The retching subsides, and he tries to make himself look presentable before returning to Jemma in the workshop. He wipes off the remnants of blood from his nose and mouth and watches the pink water swirl down the drain of the sink. He stares at himself in the mirror and a small red spot soaking through the fabric of his shirt catches his eye. He slowly lifts the edge of his button-up and stares in horror when blood leaks onto his hands as he prods the reopened bullet wound.

The rivulets roll down to his shaking fingers and drip off of their tips like rain. Blood on his hands. Just like when the blood from Agnes' chest sprayed after he shot her. When he decapitated Kree's heads with the wire.  _When Daisy's blood was on his hands after he cut into her._

Fitz turns to the sink and scrubs at his hands vigorously in scalding water as if to wash away the darkness. Red water splashes onto the mirror, tainting his reflection.  _It_   _won't stop._ His vision blurs and the next thing he knows, he's surrounded by shards broken glass. Small chips of the mirror are embedded in the knuckles of his right hand which is still curled into a tight fist.

He stands up and numbly, washing away the mixture of old dried blood and new dripping blood, as well as the glass from his hands. Turning off the faucet with a trembling hand, he slides down the wall resting his arms on his knees which are bent up in front of him. He slams his head back against the wall and growls in frustration. Angry tears threaten to fall.

_The mirror isn't the only thing that broke._

oOo

As he enters the main control room, Fitz notices a few people eyeing him with curiosity or maybe even concern— probably both.

_They don't care about you. They just want to use you_. The voice in his head says, but he ignores it like he always does... well... tries to. He'd been doing a sufficient job until his brain injury relapsed a few days ago and he started hallucinating again. Great, another thing he's failed at.

Piper's eyes shoot down to his legs for an instant. A normal person wouldn't even notice his concealed limp, but he's entering a room full of highly trained intelligence agents. He feels as if he's been thrown into the lion's den. All of them staring at him, stripping off layers of his facade piece by piece making him feel vulnerable. Too vulnerable. And though the glances only last for a fleeting moment, it feels as if they've been staring at him for hours.

Coulson and May look at him with concern, May's is less noticeable but he's known her long enough to spot it. Daisy pretends not to notice—in contempt— and the other agents have questioning looks on their faces. Their faces start to swirl with dark spots before he blinks away the mirage and directs his attention to Simmons, who made her way to his side.

He gives her a small wave and she notices his hand trembling. He must have caught her gaze because he immediately crosses his arms after.

"Are you okay?" She whispers.

"I'm good." He whispers back with a small reassuring smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

_'It never does anymore.'_  Jemma thinks to herself. He buttons his blazer closed.

_'He never buttons his jacket... Especially since the Framework.'_

During the meeting, he tries to make himself as small as possible. He presses a hand to his ribs when no ones looking. Hugging himself a little tighter with every pointed or suggestive word from Daisy, avoiding as much attention as he can... that is until Yo-Yo and Jemma bring up his cracked ribs. People eye him; their glares burn into him, making him feel like an ant under a magnifying glass.

He curls in on himself slightly, avoiding eye contact, staring at the floor: an old childhood habit he's reverted to lately.

His panic starts to rise as the meeting drags on, voices swirling together and pounding away at his skull like a hammer and chisel. He needs to get away from everything.  _It's too much itstoomuchitstoomuch_

_Keep it under control..._

He does everything in his power to hide how much he's actually panicking. How much everything is hurting.  _How much the blood is starting to soak through the shirt under his blazer,_ even though he rebandaged it.

_He really should've let Jemma check him out._

He scrunches his eyes shut and lets out a shaky breath.

oOo

On the other hand, Jemma suddenly feels the urge to be alone. She strides into and uses the bathroom right outside her and Fitz's room, also washing up and processing for a moment. She slumps a little and takes a deep breath. Everything going on is exhausting her. She pinches the bridge of her nose to relieve some of the pressure, before washing her hands and looking up to see what she looks like in the mirror.  _'Why is everyone being so—'_

The mirror is nonexistent.

"...heartless..." She finishes her sentence aloud.

Eyeing the bathroom critically for a moment, something catches her eye. Something reflective on the usually matte concrete floor.

She steps closer to inspect it. Pinching her fingers, she plucks the small bead of glass from the floor. One side of the particle an odd reddish color. Her expression changes from curiosity to doubt.  _'It couldn't be from... could it?'_ She hopes her suspicions are wrong.

She glances around the room once more with new eyes.

She doesn't see anything alarming at first. Overall the bathroom looks pretty clean. For a moment she wonders if she's in the wrong bathroom, but she distinctly remembers a plain square mirror in place above the sink. She leans over to look in the trash can. The plastic bin filled with an empty bandage box and the shards of the recently broken mirror; some of which are tipped with specks of red.

_'Oh no.'_

She rounds the corner to their bedroom and searches for something else to confirm her hunch. There wrapped up in a ball on the floor was the shirt Fitz was wearing not too long ago. Once unfurled, it reveals a blossomed patch of blood where Fitz bullet wound was not too long ago.

_'Why didn't he tell me it was so bad?'_

The shirt is left forgotten on the floor as Jemma rushes to find her husband.

oOo

Finally, most of the agents file out of the room to do their appointed jobs for the mission, leaving only Coulson, Mack, and Daisy. Fitz takes this opportunity to get out. He strides across the grated platform, getting out his only goal. A high pitched ringing starts to take over his ability to hear.

Suddenly, Daisy's voice resounds behind him. He spins around quickly.

"What?" Fitz questions, not having heard her through the ringing.

"Oh please.  _I said:_ Quit trying to play the victim."

_'What is she spouting on about?'_

"Victim—? I haven't done anything to insinuate that!"

"Oh yeah, like you limping in here, and Yo-Yo and Simmons bringing up your 'injuries'," She uses air quotes to emphasize the word. "in front of everyone wasn't a plan to get our pity, is that it? Well, just so you know, it didn't work."

"It wasn't! I don't want anyone's pity, definitely... definitely not yours." Fitz defends, brows furrowed, gasping to catch his breath in the middle of the sentence.

Coulson jumps in. "Daisy that's enough."

"No, Coulson! He's obviously trying to make everyone feel sorry for him so they forget about what he did!"

The yelling is drilling into Fitz's head. His memories are jumbled and he can quite seem to get his thoughts together. He thinks someone said something about pity.

"I— I can handle it. Pity is for the... the weak." Fitz cuts in. "That's what Father always said..." He adds in almost a whisper. He has the urge to smooth his hair and make it presentable but just settles for brushing his hand through it anxiously instead. He can see his father staring at him disapprovingly from across the room.

_Control it. You can't let them see your weakness. They won't respect you. Father won't respect you._

"Uh... okay. Fitz?" Coulson try's to get through to him. "Are you okay?"

"I um— yeah. I'm... fine." He stutters, having trouble thinking properly. "I was just uh... Father will... probably need me in the lab. I have to go before he... uh..." Blood rushes through his head as the ringing increases, tasting metal. His stomach feels uncomfortable with nausea, twisting and turning with the rhythm of his pounding head as he fights the urge to throw up.

"Oh great, Is he having another mental breakdown?" Daisy asks.

Coulson says something but doesn't have an answer.

The air is choking him. Constricting. Suffocating. Not enough... Too much... he can't tell. Something hurts... it's warm and irritating. He presses down on the irritation, squishing the shirt against his side. The stickiness makes it worse so he pulls the fabric away from his skin. Pulling up his hands, he goes to inspect them. He hates the color red anymore.

"Wh.. s... at.. .. od?" A voice says.

The voice sounds warbled and strange, and he can't quite comprehend what it's saying.

He's and cold at the same time not being able to decide which. The heat starts to be suffocating. He tries to pull off his blazer, fumbling with trying to get his fingers to work properly. He rips it from his shoulders and shivers as the cold air hits his sweat-soaked dress shirt. The sharp air catches him off guard and he tilts to the side catching himself on something hard. There's a gun just sitting there. He hears an eerily calm version of his own voice.

_"Father would be disappointed with you."_

"Go away." He whispers, glancing over at the empty space where his father was previously standing. "...Father is gone."

_"Go on... Step up. Show them who's really in charge."_

He feels the Doctor's presence get closer before a hand touches his shoulder. He jumps and reaches for the gun to defend himself, instantly aiming at the Doctor's chest. The Doctor steps back a little bit and raises his hands patronizingly.

_"Now that's more like it."_

"Leave. me. alone." He squeezes his eyes shut. "You're not real... you're not real..." He says as a mantra, hoping the Hydra agent will disappear like the subconscious Simmons. It doesn't work.

_"They're never going to forgive you for what you've done."_

"You don't think I know that?" He cries.

_"And pointing that gun at me isn't going to do anything. I am you. This version of us you're seeing is just a hallucination."_

"...he's a monster..." He hears Daisy say from across the room. She's not wrong.

"You're right..."

This is never going to end unless he does something. The only way to keep Jemma and everyone safe is to get rid of the Doctor completely.

He raises his arm and presses the cold metal against his temple.

"It's the only way to protect her. It's the only way to get rid of  _you_."

Someone keeps yelling, and he doesn't know why. Won't this fix their problems? He's finally giving them what they really want.

He adjusts his finger on the trigger and a loud bang resounds.

Everything goes black.

_**To be continued...** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you ask— no, he's not dead ;)


	2. Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the feedback everyone! I really enjoy writing this story and I'm glad you enjoy reading it! I might not be updating as fast after the next chapter because of school, so sorry in advance.
> 
> Anyways I hope you like this chapter and if you have any questions or anything you want to see happen in the coming chapters, comment below! I love hearing suggestions from you guys.
> 
> Just a small warning: This chapter is a little more bloody than the last. Mostly just medical injury stuff though.
> 
> Enjoy! :D

* * *

  _"Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad."_

_― Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_

* * *

**Part II**

Daisy glances over at Fitz.

He's holding his left arm over his ribs, no doubt to get sympathy. After the majority of people leave, stomps over him and crosses her arms. His eyes are closed, so she clears her throat to get his attention: he does nothing.

_So he's ignoring me now?_

"Quit trying to be the victim in this." She badgers.

Fitz whirls around looking confused.

"What?" Fitz questions and she scoffs.

_Like he didn't hear me._

"Oh please," She spits, rolling her eyes, " _I said:_ Quit trying to play the victim."

"Victim—? I haven't done anything to insinuate that!"

"Oh yeah, like you limping in here, and Yo-Yo and Simmons bringing up your 'injuries' in front of everyone wasn't a plan to get our pity, is that it? Well, just so you know, it didn't work."

"It wasn't! I don't want anyone's pity, definitely... definitely not yours." Fitz defends, looking distracted by something.

Coulson tries to calm her down. "Daisy that's enough."

"God, can't you see he's trying to make everyone feel sorry for him so they forget about what he did?!"

"I— I can handle it. Pity is for the... the weak." Fitz cuts in. "That's what Father always said..." He adds in almost a whisper. He runs his thin fingers through his hair, fear painting his features as he stares at something across the room only he can see.

"Uh... okay. Fitz?" Coulson try's to get through to him. "Are you alright?"

"I um— yeah. I'm... fine." He stutters. "I was just uh... Father will... probably need me in the lab. I have to go before he... uh..."

_This is not good_ Coulson thinks.

"Oh great, is he having another mental breakdown now?" Daisy asks, looking up at the ceiling in irritation.

"I don't know." Coulson supplies, watching Fitz cautiously. _'She is not helping.'_

Fitz is sucking in short gasps that wouldn't pass for real breaths. Letting out a suppressed whine, he presses his hand against the shirt under his jacket, the fabric against his side making a sickening squelching sound. He scrunches his nose annoyance and pulls the fabric away from his skin. He then proceeds to stare in horror at his bloodied hands with confused, unfocused eyes. Mack is the first to see the newly developed color on his hands.

"Whoa whoa whoa, is that blood?"

Daisy whips her head around, hoping Mack's not talking about... _him._ No such luck.

Fitz takes a deep breath scrunching his eyes shut. He fumbles with pulling his jacket, ripping it from his shoulders and shivering as the cold air hits his sweat-soaked dress shirt. Only then do they see the dark splotch of blood covering the side of his shirt.

_Oh, God..._ Daisy thinks to herself.

He takes a step forward before stumbling and catching himself on a desk, leaving behind smears of bloody handprints like a horror movie. He stands there, hunched over the desk whispering to himself.

Mack glances at Coulson in silent question, to which Coulson nods.

"Turbo..." He walks forward, placing a hand on the younger man's thin shoulder. He flinches violently and grabs a gun that was sitting on the desk, instantly aiming at Mack's chest. Mack steps back startled and raises his hands in the air placatingly.

"Leave. me. alone." The battered hand holding the gun is shaking so much Mack wouldn't be surprised if Fitz missed. Though he wasn't going to tempt fate. "You're not real... you're not real..."

Fitz was staring through Mack. Hatred and fear evident on his face.

"Fitz... what are you doing buddy?" Mack asks in a soft tone as if talking to a toddler with a knife.

"You don't think I know that?" He cries in response.

_There's definitely something more complicated going on here._ Coulson thinks.

Daisy steps forward, lifting a hand to quake the engineer before he does something to Mack.

"Stop! Stand down, Daisy." Coulson stops her.

"No, Coulson! You don't know him like I do! He's Hydra! He's a monster..." Fitz gives her a nervous sideglance and he backs up near the grate stairs.

"If you quake him while he's hurt, it will only make things worse." She stares at Coulson for a moment before conceding with a sigh and reluctantly lowering her hand.

For the first time since the incident, she notices how horrible he looks. His eyes pooling with confused tears; dark circles prominent against the ivory color of his frighteningly pale skin. Every inch of his skin shimmers with a sheen of perspiration, reflections of light quivering as his body shakes. The usual bright blue spark in his eyes have dulled to a dark navy.

Fitz stares at the floor, eyes haunted, then looks back up at Mack.

"You're right..."

He pulls the gun up to his temple.

"It's the only way to protect her." He says softly, hopelessness dripping from his voice.

_His emotional state is much worse than I thought. This has gotten out of hand._ Coulson concludes.

"Fitz!" and "Hey— HEY! This isn't the answer!" Coulson and Mack yell. All reservations Mack had about Fitz vanish.

Daisy starts to regret how she's been treating him the tiniest bit.

"...the only way to get rid of _you_." He squeezes his eyes and is taken by a sudden coughing fit. Rough rattles jar in his lungs, sending crimson blood splatters to the grates and down to the lights below. He freezes for a fleeting second, an empty look in his eyes.

"I'm sorry..." He breathes, and his finger twitches on the trigger.

A gunshot resounds and everyone flinches.

The gun slips from his slick, trembling fingers, landing with the loud bang of metal on metal. Fitz collapses like a puppet with severed strings, his eyes rolling back. Mack rushes forward and catches the thinner man in his hulking arms as he pitches backward towards the stairs and the concrete below. Behind him, May stands at the doorway, a smoking ICER in her hand.

Perhaps she's the only one who can understand a small piece what Fitz was feeling.

"What the hell is going on here?" May inquires, shocked and somewhat angry. Mack adjusts so his chest is to Fitz' back, lifting him from under his arms. He gently drags Fitz' unconscious form off of the platform and onto the smooth floor.

"Uh its a long story. We were trying to figure it out, then he grabbed the gun... and you iced him soon after." Coulson supplies factually. "Thanks for that, by the way. You had great timing." He adds genuinely.

"He was going to shoot himself, with a _real_ gun. Not just an ICER..." May says with disbelief. "Anyone care to tell me why?"

Coulson looks down at the young agent with wide eyes but doesn't answer.

Mack crouches down, leaning on the balls of his feet. The red stain now covering half of his shirt and the waist of his trousers. Mack's hands hover over the soaked cotton fabric. He delves in, pinching the edges of the fabric and lifting it upwards. He winces at what lays beneath.

Black and purple bruises stretch across his abdomen and the bottom edge of too prominent ribs. Mack makes a mental note to get the kid to eat something when he's better.

_If_ he gets better

There's wound on his left side at the bottom of his ribs covered by a newer-looking, extremely blood-soaked, pad of gauze— It's efforts obviously useless in stemming the flow of blood. Mack wouldn't know it used to be white if he didn't know any better. Fitz' stomach is smeared all over with the coppery red substance, creating a morbid painting across his canvas-white skin.

"He didn't look that bad at the facility. I would've sent him to medical if I had known." May states, sliding her ICER into its holster on her hip. Daisy's hand comes up to her mouth nervously. Mack apprehensively peels back the gauze to reveal the oozing wound, the discarded cotton making a wet slap as it hits the floor.

"Someone go get Si—"

Everyone looks over as Jemma rushes into the room.

"Oh thank God..." Mack whispers.

"What happened?" She asks, eyes drawn to Fitz' blood covered torso and the discarded gun on the floor.

"We were hoping you could tell us."

"I didn't find out he was so badly injured until a few minutes ago."

"Why didn't he say anything?" Mack chimes in.

"Well he was a little preoccupied with everyone treating him like a felon, or—" Simmons stops herself. She was going to say 'Ward' but thought better of it. She knows that Fitz thinks almost as little of himself as he thought of Ward. Maybe more. If only he could see the truth— see what she sees.

She sees the man who was ready to give up his life at the bottom of the ocean. The man who sacrificed his everything to save Will, even though he's loved her for so long, and wanted to be with her for even longer. The man that has been broken by so much pain and sorrow throughout his life but is still standing.

Jemma crouches down and inspects the ripped wound. The edges are more jagged than before, which will make it difficult to stitch properly, not to mention the medical wing is on the other side of the Lighthouse. She unbuttons the few bottom buttons of his shirt open, exposing the full area around the wound.

There are a few scars here and there across his torso that she's never seen before, ranging from small pink or white creases, to jagged raised lines just darker than his skin. She'll have to ask him about those later. She sticks her index finger into the wound as gently as she can, trying to distinguish how deep it is. He flinches with a groan, still unconscious.

She can reach down to the knuckle on her hand, at the base of her finger. _Not_ good. She sighs in a defeated tone. She's going to have to choose the risky option.

"I need someone to get me a stapler. We don't have enough time to get him to medical."

Coulson blanches.

Mack stands up quickly and rifles through some drawers until he finds an old stapler that has definitely seen better days, but it will have to do.

"This can't be sanitary..." Mack says as he places the office item into Jemma's open hand.

"Exactly right; which is why I need some alcohol or a lighter..."

"The pantry is just down the hall." May points out, and turns quickly, jogging down the hall.

Simmons takes a cleansing breath. She should've persisted when Fitz said he was fine.

_He'll be okay... He'll be okay... He'll_ —

"Why didn't I see this?" Coulson asks no one in particular, running his good hand down his face. "It's been so obvious that he hasn't been sleeping. I should've seen it. I should've helped him."

Jemma looks over at the director sympathetically.

"It's not your fault. He's been shutting me out too. Losing himself."

Coulson returns her gaze, offering one of assurance. They look over at the sound May's footsteps running back into the room. In her right hand is a bottle of Bacardi 151. A good choice for substituting rubbing alcohol, considering it was discontinued in 2016 for its high alcohol contents. Simmons snatches the glass bottle from the agent's hand briskly and wrenches the cap off with a twist.

Using staples has a higher risk of infection so she can't take any chances. She pours the strong smelling rum all over the stapler and then begrudgingly, on Fitz' wound.

Jemma cringes as his head rears back and he lets out a horrible choked scream, back arching off of the floor. His throat gurgles and he tilts his head to the side to cough up a reasonable amount of blood. Alarmed, she sets the bottle down quickly and tries to get Fitz' attention.

He pushes her gentle hands back in a panicked frenzy and tries to drag himself away. She grabs onto his shoulder, looking him in the eyes.

"Hey hey— look at me. It's just me. It's Jemma."

A flicker of recognition ignites in his glassy cobalt blue eyes. She's taken off-guard as this scenario eerily resembles her encounter with his LMD.

"Jem-Jemma?" He asks weakly squinting at her critically— as if he was far-sighted and had lost his glasses.

"Yes, that's right, It's me." She confirms, tears stinging her eyes as she gazes into the ocean of his own fever-bright ones. He seems to be coherent enough at this moment so she decides to take the opportunity. "Listen, you need to stay still. I have to close your wound but it's going to hurt... a lot." She adds the last part with a tone of sympathy.

He closes his eyes and nods tiredly. She takes his silent consent and pinches the edges of the laceration together. He flinches, cringing, but quickly holds himself still, biting his lip roughly to silence himself. His hand slams down flat on the concrete mindlessly searching for something to hold onto. Mack notices this, and in a flash, he kneels beside the suffering young man, clasping his scarlet-smeared left hand in his own.

"Here we go..." Jemma braces.

She positions the stapler over the pinched line of his slick flesh and presses down.

He lets out a muffled grunt and jumps. Mack is shocked at how strong Fitz squeezes his hand. He wouldn't be surprised if a few bones broke, the pain was almost unbearable. _almost._ He knew the pain Fitz was feeling was a hundred times worse.

A dark part of Daisy says that he deserves it and she almost smirks. Coulson looks away from Fitz and see's the small quirk at the corner of Daisy's lips. His eyes widen with shock and his brow furrows in disappointment. May saw it too. She shakes her head slightly with a touch of anger painting her features.

_SNAP_

Another staple. Blood slides down his lip as he bites even harder than before. Daisy sees Coulson's glare and her face drops. She instantly feels guilty for thinking such horrible thoughts.

_SNAP_

Fitz' hands shake from exhaustion. He curls his right hand into a fist, slamming it onto the floor repeatedly. The scabbed-over slices on the side of his hand crack, leaving dots of red mottled on the grey cement. Coulson gives one last pointed look at Daisy before crouching down and taking Fitz' other hand, preventing the young man from injuring himself further.

_SNAP_

Fitz can't silence himself any longer; a sharp rasping cry escapes his lips. Coulson can feel all the scabs on his knuckles, and the blood welling in the crescent-shaped cuts on his palms from where his nails dug in.

"Here's the last one," Jemma states before putting pressure on the stapler. He only has the strength to gasp. His head lolls to the side slightly before shooting back up. "I have to disinfect once more. I'm sorry." He nods again before she pours one last splash of rum over the stapled wound. His hips buck and he shouts before it abruptly dies off, eyes rolling lazily back under the lids as he passes out.

Jemma is almost glad that he did, so he won't feel so much pain, but it will also make it harder to move him. She debating between waking him up to try and walk or figure something else out. Mack must have been able to tell what she was thinking because he nods and leans down, placing his right arm under Fitz' back, and his left under his knees. Fitz' arms hang limply as Mack hoists the thin man into his hulking arms.

"Take him to the infirmary. He needs blood straight away." Jemma directs.

He's careful to avoid the red puddle at his feet and walks around it. A pang of sadness stops him from advancing. He remembers how he would do this with Hope when she would fall asleep during a movie, or when she was tired after putting together some random gadget late at night. For a moment he wonders if Fitz' father ever did the same for him, but the thought is immediately shucked away with resentment as he remembers what Jemma had told him about that wretched man. He can only imagine how lousy Fitz' life in the Framework was.

Then it hit him.

After they got out, he didn't even stop to consider Fitz' childhood in the Framework. No wonder he turned out so screwed up. Having someone always telling him that he's good enough, demanding his obedience by instilling fear... he couldn't ever imagine treating Hope that way. The thought sickens him.

Mack looks down at the young man in his arms as he walks to the infirmary.

Fitz' face, free of the usual mask of brooding indifference, makes him looks deceptively peaceful and much too young. The blood on his blank face, and the dark purple streaks under his eyes against his porcelain-white skin, contrast with a beauty that's morbidly ethereal-looking and almost skeleton like. The kid looks like he hasn't slept for a year. Thick stubble— which seems like it could use a good trim— covers his sharp, bruised, jawline.

Mack has a sinking suspicion that Fitz has been punishing himself, whether he realizes it or not, in his almost... _manic_ drive to solve every problem and keep working to fix it until he drops. He has a wicked inferiority complex and tries to compensate by constantly trying to prove himself. He's trying to make up for everything that's happened since the Framework, which seems so long ago. Having two separate lives that were so drastically different, and then being thrown in an isolated prison cell for 6 months, his only contact with other people being with Hale's cronies who treated him like nothing more than a source for info they needed... Mack doesn't blame him for cracking.

_He never asked for any of this._

Coulson, May, and Simmons follow him and Fitz to the medical room, no one having anything to say. Daisy apparently doesn't care enough to join. He swiftly turns the corner to the infirmary and deposits Fitz on the nearest medical bed. Jemma started bringing an IV pole over as soon as they got there. She hooks up a bag of clear fluid and a bag of blood that has 'O-' scrawled on the front in blue marker. She has to scrub hard at the top of his hand with an Iodine-soaked cotton ball to get the dried blood off and disinfect before sticking the IV port in without hesitation, hooking up the two tubes that connect to the bags of fluid, and adjusting the flow rate.

Mack leaves to grab some coffee to stay awake, and when he comes back, Fitz has a tube fixed to his nose that's connected to a bag of cream colored liquid.

_F_ _eeding tube..._ Mack notes, suddenly feeling a little sick to his stomach.

Mack rubs his temple pulls a chair over to the bedside, emotionally exhausted, but he feels as if he has a little more understanding of the broken young man. He sits down, taking the pale and damaged hand in his own larger ones and waits.

He's not going to abandon Fitz ever again.

**_To be continued..._ **

****


	3. Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thanks for the feedback! After reading all the nice comments, I was finally able to finish this chapter. I've barely had any free time (which I've been trying to use mostly for this), but I've also had some sucky writer's block.
> 
> I will NEVER abandon this story. It'll just take a while to update sometimes.
> 
> So anyway, I hope you enjoy!

* * *

_"The temptation is always there: to punish oneself. To make oneself miserable."_

_― Marty Rubin_

* * *

**Part III**

The steady rhythm of the heart monitor fills the dead silence of the room.

Mack and Simmons stayed with the young Scotsman as he rested. She was surprised Mack had stuck around this long after the way he's been treating Fitz prior to the incident. Coulson had come in a few times to see if there was any change, to which Jemma usually responded with a somber shake of the head. He wished he could stay longer but with everything else going on, he had to go around and give orders, so the base doesn't fall into chaos— again.

May was the surprising one. She had been here more often than Coulson and often seemed worried for Fitz. She wondered if Daisy would ever see Fitz while he's here. She has some choice words for the girl but is too tired to do anything about it now. She'll talk with her once Fitz is better. Speaking of...

"What happened...?" Jemma asks apprehensively. "No one is saying anything, and everyone has this guilty look on their faces... I saw the gun on the floor, so what did he do?"

Mack looks up at her, debating if he should tell her the truth. _'We shouldn't hide things from each other.'_ He thinks. He lets out a sharp breath from his nose.

"He... I don't think he was completely there. He seemed very confused and maybe a little delirious, most likely from the... blood loss."

"Oh no, he didn't attack you did he?"

"No— well, yes, but it's... he didn't know it was me he was pointing the gun at."

"You're saying...?" Jemma trails, hinting towards the possible involvement of The Doctor.

Mack nods. "That's the only thing I can think of."

"So how did it start then?"

"Well, you had left with the other agents, leaving just him, Coulson, Daisy, and me. Daisy started...arguing with Fitz and it seemed like he didn't hear her. Then, he kept spacing out and staring at nothing, saying something about his father..."

"Fitz barely ever _willingly_ talks about his father. He was definitely not that coherent"

"Exactly. He took off his jacket and we all saw the blood. Did Hale's daughter cut him or something?"

'No... not exactly. It was originally from his bullet wound. I'm guessing it was re-opened after Ruby punched him in the stomach about six too many times." She states spitefully.

Mack cringes at the prospect before something stops him.

"Wait— bullet wound? When?"

"A Kree shot him when we were in the future. You didn't know about that?"

"No... I guess I didn't pay enough attention." Mack says. How did he not know Fitz had been shot? He's starting to regret a lot of his decisions of late. Although now that she mentions it, he does vaguely remember a dark red stain peeking out from behind Fitz' leather jacket when they reunited. He kicks himself for not asking about it.

"So, after he took off his coat, he almost collapsed but landed on a desk. Then he was... _whispering_ to himself. I went to go talk to him but as soon as I touched him, he freaked out and grabbed the gun."

Jemma winces.

"I tried to coax him to calm down but he just kept getting more anxious. He was talking to no one, or at least, no one we could see. He was pointing the gun at me but he wasn't _looking_ at me, more so _through_ me. That's when he... uh..." He stumbles looking for the right words. "He put the gun to his own head. He was about to go through with it, but May was able to ice him before he could."

Simmons' looks heartbroken and slightly horrified. Her eyes start to well up as she quickly looks over at her husband, but she steels herself and wipes them away, rationalizing her thoughts like a doctor usually does.

"He was about to go through with it, but May was able to ice him before he could."

"Oh God... He really is losing himself... I shouldn't have left the briefing so soon."

"Hey, you didn't know. This isn't your fault."

"Ugh. I know... but I can't help but feel partly responsible for his injuries at least. He only talked back harshly to Ruby because she threatened to hurt me."

Mack took to silence to ruminate all of what was said.

oOo

Mack had left for a moment get more coffee— this now being his fifth cup— before Simmons forced him to go lay down. It was now around 3 AM (seven hours since the incident), and Jemma started to drift. She sits in a very uncomfortable looking chair, her upper half laying on the bed and her head rests on her arms. May peeks in the room again glancing at the man in the hospital bed— his clothes replaced with a paper hospital gown, and the feeding tube replaced with one that delivers oxygen instead. Then she looks to the young doctor that also occupies part of the bed.

She gently pads over to the Jemma, shaking her shoulder lightly. She jumps up with a start before looking up and seeing it's only May. She breathes in relief presses a hand to her forehead.

"What time is it?" Simmons inquires in a sleep stricken voice.

"Three. You should go get some rest. I'll stay with him." May offers. She sounds so gentle and motherly it catches Jemma off guard for a moment.

"I can't... What if something happens and... and he needs medical attention immediately? Like if his wound is infected, if he goes Tachycardic, I mean it's not uncommon for one to develop a Pneumothorax or a sudden Pulmonary Embolism or—" May puts a hand on the young woman's arm to silence her.

"Look, I don't understand half of what you just said, but it makes my offer even stronger." May deadpans with a small smile. Jemma smiles back with an exhausted and defeated sigh.

"Thank you. Just... call me if anything changes. _Anything at all._ "

"I will. Now go get some sleep."

"Also, make sure he doesn't get too cold."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"But don't cover his feet too tight, he can't stand it. If he has a nightmare he'll panic if his feet are all tangled."

"Okay. Got it."

"Oh and make sure—"

_"Jemma,"_

"Alright, I'm going." Jemma finishes and exits the room. May shakes her head faintly with a smile.

She makes her way to the chair Jemma was previously occupying and sits down with a groan. She stretches her stiff legs and turns her head to look at Fitz.

"You really outdid yourself this time, kid..." She says. Not malice in her voice, but a gentle tone. He looks like death itself— and almost had been.

She had gotten the full story from Coulson.

"I don't know why you feel you had to do that, but from here on out, I'll be here if you need anything."

oOo

It was another hour before anything happened.

First, it was just the twitch of his brow, then the normal incessant drone of the heart monitor starts speeding up, then a mumble. May had her head tilted on the back of the chair, eyes closed. The quickening beeps make her eyes shoot open, and she lifts up her head to look over the unconscious form in the bed. His eyes squeeze tighter, grasping the sheets tightly in his bruised hands, knuckles absolved of all color.

"Fitz?"

May scoots closer to the bed gauging all of his micro-expressions critically. The rapid movement of his eyes under their lids, elevated heart rate, brows drawn together, barely perceivable whispers, and tensing of muscles all point to one possible result. Nightmare. They're not uncommon in their line of work. She's had enough herself to know, and this kids definitely had enough trauma to permit it. She gently shakes his arm, the papery fabric of his hospital gown crinkling under her touch. His breath hitches and his hand shoots out to grab the rail of the hospital bed. His eyes dart around the room erratically, before he looks over at the woman at his bedside and flinches.

"Hey, hey, calm down. It's me."

He closes his eyes before a set of coughs break through his lungs. He gags and grabs at the tube in his nose, pulling out and trying not to throw up at the feeling of it sliding up his throat. May can sympathize. Once the tube is removed he slumps back in the bed, exhausted. His mouth tastes like rusty metal. He attempts to talk, but his dry throat reprimands him, sending him into another coughing fit.

May grabs foam cup of water from the bedside table and holds it up to his lips before he grabs it, and drinks greedily until the small cup is empty. He licks his chapped lips as she places the cup back on the stand. He looks down, avoiding her eyes in shame as he vaguely remembers what happened leading up to this point.

"Is... is everyone okay?" His voice is huskier and his accent seems the slightest bit thicker.

May stares at him in disbelief. The guy almost dies and the first thing he asks when he wakes up is if everyone is okay? This kid really has _no_ sense of self-preservation.

"Yeah— everyone else is fine. You should be worrying about yourself." May denotes. Fitz slowly sits up with a wince.

"I'm fine."

"You're—" She lets out a huff of frustration, "Listen... I don't know what your definition of 'fine' is, but if this is it.. you've seriously got something messed up in the head." His jaw tightens quickly and he closes his eyes, prompting her to realize what she just said. "That came out wrong,"

"It's okay. I mean, it's true isn't it?" He voices softly. She doesn't miss the self-deprecation hidden in the tones.

"No, It's not. I'm tired of everyone treating you like a damn villain. I did just as much evil in the Framework as you did. You made the hard call. Someone had to. I'm not saying I enjoy the methods you used, but at the time, it was our only option. I probably would've done the same had I been in your position."

"It seems everything I do ends up hurting everyone around me."

"That's not true..."

"Think about it. I decapitated those Kree guards without a thought... it was almost like second nature to me. I restrained Daisy— _my friend_ —cut into her, and almost paralyzed her. I... I created the Framework and helped create Ophe— _Aida..._ without thinking of the consequences. I tortured so many Inhumans... I can't sleep without hearing the screams of agony." He brings his shaking hands up to cover his face, as he relives all the horrors he inflicted.

May puts her hand on his bony shoulder for comfort.

"It's... it's my fault Coulson is dying. He wouldn't have had to make the deal with Ghost Rider if I hadn't made Aida. Everyone knows it." He laments.

Still not being in full health, and under the influence of some heavy pain medication, his bottled emotions burst, leaving nothing behind but the broken shards of false wholeness he's been hiding behind.

He chokes a sob and May takes her hand back in shock. She had never seen Fitz cry before. Not like this. Has he been carrying guilt for Coulson this whole time? _And he really thinks everyone blames him for it._

He sits up, painstakingly brings his knees to his chest, his frame wracking with silent sobs as he curls himself tighter. She's never seen someone so... _shattered_ before.

For a moment she doesn't know what to do— how to comfort him. Then her instincts take over and she sits next to him on the bed, enveloping him in a tight embrace. He stiffens at the unexpected gesture.

"Coulson is _not_ your fault. You hear me? It was his decision, not yours. Framework or not, you've always had such a big heart."

He lifts his head up and she releases him from the hold. He looks at her from the corner of his eye before wiping the residual salt water from his flushed face. She gives him one last squeeze on his shoulder and he nods, easing back into the bed with a sudden feeling of exhaustion from his emotional release.

"You should rest. I'm going to go find Simmons."

Fitz nods again and blinks at the ceiling as the older agent leaves the room. He decides for a moment to catalog everything he's feeling. His mind feels fuzzy and muddled, and it reminds all him too much of his first few months of hypoxia.

He's having trouble gathering his thoughts. He does remember blood. Lots of blood, specifically coming from his side. He pulls up the edge of the hospital gown— relieved to see that he's still wearing boxers underneath— and inspects the damage.

There's a large square of gauze over the area in question. He peels the corner up slowly, gritting his teeth as it aggravates the surrounding area. He winces at the sight that greets him. There's a long gnarled incision that's stamped with a railroad of staples. It's definitely going to make a nasty scar. Just another to add the collection.

It was never supposed to have gotten this bad. _What was he thinking?_ All he did was make himself a liability. Something that was broken and had to be fixed. If he would've just told Jemma about his wound, he wouldn't have become such a burden.

He presses the adhesive back onto his skin with excessive force, telling himself that he deserves every bit of pain that he feels.

On the subject of feelings, his mind jumps to another sensation that's bothering him. He feels uncomfortably full. As if he ate too much, but he doesn't remember having eaten anything for a while. He hasn't been able to.

Not being able to remember things properly brings him back to the fuzziness. He can't help prepare the Gravitonium if his mind isn't clear. The team needs him at full working order. He looks over to his left, spying the clear tube protruding from the top of his hand. His eyes follow the tube to the bag hanging near the bed's headboard.

He figures he doesn't need the IV now that he's awake and can hydrate himself. As for the medication, pain isn't a big deal. He doesn't deserve the relief. He didn't give Daisy any when he cut into her, so why should he be able to have it?

He hears footsteps approach suddenly.

Jemma rushes in and her face lights up when she sees him awake. She approaches him smoothly, easing into the bed gently, and starts carding her fingers through his thick curls. Fitz closes his eyes, melting into her touch. She gives a slight smile at his actions. She places her hands on either side of his stubbled face and leans down, engaging a soft kiss on his rough lips. Jemma can feel a mix of emotions pouring off of him in waves. They break away, her forehead still brushing his as she studies the onslaught of emotions on his face. He doesn't dare initiate eye contact.

"I almost lost you again." She whispers.

"I'm sorry. I should have come to you."

She frowns, remembering what Mack had said.

"Why did you try to... How could you ever think I could live without you?"

He risks a glance into her eyes and is shocked to find deep sadness, instead of the anger he was expecting. He could tell her the truth of why, but he knew she wouldn't understand. He moves his head away from hers and breaks eye contact.

"I was... I was delusional. My brain wasn't working properly and I was too confused to walk a straight line. _I was out of control._ " He said the last sentence like he was reading a script. Jemma makes an expression of suspicion before covering it up. The answer was obviously a cop-out. He sighs. "I'm uh, getting a little tired. "

"Oh... alright." She says in a defeated tone. "I just have to administer your next dose of medication." She moves to a glass cabinet on the other side of the room and returns with a glass bottle and a syringe.

He eyes her nervously for a second before closing his eyes and pretending to go back to sleep. She taps the needle and squeezes out the excess air before injecting it into the port on his IV.

Underneath the blanket, he grips the detached, dripping IV needle in his hand.

He needs to get back to work. _No matter the consequences._

_**To be continued...** _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Heheh... you see what I did there? ...Okay I'll stop now.)


	4. Part IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm back with another overdue update! I think the reason I'm having such trouble continuing this story, is because I had started binge-watching Criminal Minds and I'm obsessed with it right now. I MAY have watched 12 out of 14 of the seasons in a month heh heh heh...
> 
> I feel like sometimes when I'm writing this I start to write Fitz's character more like a similar character from Criminal Minds— Reid (my other precious cinnamon roll next to Fitz) for those of you who also watch the show— so I end up having to re-write some of the scenes.
> 
> Anyways, thanks so much for all of the wonderful comments, I wouldn't have the motivation to continue without them. So just for you guys, here's an EXTRA long chapter (1000 words more than usual)!
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

  _"Children are gifts. They are not ours for the breaking. They are ours for the making."_

_― Dan Pearce_

* * *

 

**Part IV**

Fitz slides to the edge of the bed in the quiet room with apprehension. He's been doing nothing but resting for the last few days and its driving him mad. He leans to the side and reaches for the heart monitor, shutting it off as to not set off alarms once he removes the wires. He peels the small pads off of his chest and grabs the rail of the bed with a renewed purpose.

He stands with some difficulty, before searing bursts of pain stab at his stomach with each small step he takes. Sweat gathers on his skin from the effort of exerting his stiff muscles. He observes with satisfaction that each step is easier than the last... that is until his knee decides not to carry his weight any longer and folds underneath him, causing him— and his head— to smack onto the cold, merciless tile. He slams his hand down in frustration. He moves to sit up, reaching up to touch the lump forming on the back of his head, but vision blots out suddenly. He blinks rapidly to clear the darkness, his head swimming. He suddenly feels cold and panic grips him. The air he breathes feels thick in his lungs.

He lies down flat on his back to try and alleviate the unsettling feeling. Gripping at his hair, he pleads with himself and his defective body to stop blacking out.

_How valuable am I if I can barely stand?_

He loses the battle, eyelids drifting shut and arms falling to the floor as unconsciousness overtakes him.

He awakens a few minutes later, relieved that no one was present for his accident, but spots, to his chagrin, a large reddish bruise forming on his elbow where he tried to catch his fall. He slowly gets onto his hands and knees, muscles aching from being idle for that short period of time. Reaching over to the bed, he pulls himself up to his feet, staggering. Now onto the next line of duty: changing out of his hospital gown.

The Scotsman slowly sneaks through the halls undetected until he reaches his room for a quick change. He grabs a dark navy button-up shirt— one of his only remaining non-bloodstained garments— and a pair of black trousers. Dressing takes him longer than he's willing to admit, at around ten minutes. After his endeavor with the clothing, he sets off for the lab.

oOo

Jemma has always considered herself a relatively organized person. She has a place for everything and tries to keep everything in its place. She normally doesn't have any problems with her things being moved since everyone respects her possessions and her organized equipment in the lab. Everything usually stays where she puts it.

Except for her husband, apparently. Who is, at the moment, nowhere to be found.

She huffs in exasperation as she stares at the empty bed in the hospital wing. She kicks herself for not expecting it at this point. _Time to stop Fitz from almost getting himself killed for the second day in a row._ And she knew exactly where he would be. She confirms her suspicions when she enters the lab to see Fitz transferring the tube of Gravitonium into a safety capsule.

He looks no better than death warmed over.

Deke— who is also present— is oddly quiet, which is an unexpected shift compared to his usual hyperactive behavior.

"You look tired," Deke voices Jemma's thoughts, oddly subdued and obviously feeling as if he's walking on eggshells.

"Yeah, thanks. _I couldn't tell_. That's probably the exhaustion. Oh, and it also could be the blood loss." Fitz replies sarcastically; his headache pounding, sharp and heavy.

" _Jeez_. Someone's cranky..." Deke mutters.

He huffs in frustration before his expression changes to one of relief when he registers Simmons' presence. The younger man strides over to her and leans close to her ear so only they can hear what he's saying.

"Is he okay?" He whispers, " 'Cause I don't want to disappear just because he doesn't like to take breaks."

She internally rolls her eyes at the vast understatement.

"He'll be fine." She says, more for convincing herself than him. _'At least he still has a good amount hydromorphone in his system to help with any pain.'_ She thinks to herself to assuage a small portion of her worry.

"Is he always like this when he's hurt?"

"More or less." Jemma moves towards the containment module where Fitz is hunched over, squinting and tapping on a tablet intensely. She places her hand gently on his back, feeling him flinch slightly before the muscles of his back tense up under her fingers. He turns his head and gives her a tired smile. Remembering that Deke was still in the room he snaps up and grabs the capsule to be delivered. Jemma doesn't miss the small wince he gives when snapping up straight so quickly.

"Now, you need to be _extremely_ careful with this. Gravtonium is too volatile and unpredictable to just throw around haphazardly." Fitz states, and hands the capsule over to Deke apprehensively.

"Of course. I got this," Deke responds, tossing the tube from one hand to another.

"No- _oKAY_ — _maybe I_ should just take it to the Zephyr _myself_ —" Fitz reaches forward quickly preparing to catch the Gravitonium should it fall, but has to stop and catch himself on the module cube when a jab of pain lances through his abdomen. Jemma notices immediately with worry, but Deke doesn't seem to catch it.

"Oh quit it. Relax, Gramps. I've been carrying this stuff on my belt for years. Besides— didn't you guys made a pledge to stay by each other's side?" Fitz knows where Deke is going with this and closes his eyes with annoyance. "You need to do that. You know, _for the good of humanity_ and all that."

Fitz rolls his eyes at the obvious self-serving motives behind his words. He does _not_ have the energy or patience to deal with this kid right now. He's already dealing with one headache; Deke is another. Jemma catches his jaw muscle tighten. He slams his hand on the surface next to him.

" _You_ —"

Jemma intervenes by leading Deke around the corner, and toward the exit by the shoulders.

"Okay! I appreciate how invested you are in our future, but for now, let's worry about the future of the planet." She gives him a gentle shove and he exits the lab. She watches the doorway for a few moments before turning on her heels and facing the direction she came from, but still out of sight. Her brows furrow in confusion when she sees Fitz' reflection on a blank monitor screen. He's holding himself up on the module heavily with one arm, and the other is wrapped around his ribs. She quickly comes around the corner again, but he must have heard her return because she finds him back to his normal posture.

_Stubborn idiot._

"You should go rest. You did your part, now let me do mine as your doctor."

He glances up at her with those irresistible blue eyes, looking so... _raw._ Back when they had first joined the team, He had been so innocent and bright. Even after she had come back from being undercover, he still had that spark. For a second, she wonders what exact moment that innocence was broken away. He's endured too much to count. He looks back down and nods, and she spots the pinched expression on his face.

"Oh, do you need more pain medication? If you're still in pain I could give it to you early."

" _No_ — I'm okay. I can still feel it working substantially, I mean." He gives her a tight smile. She eyes him critically for a moment before conceding.

"Alright, well if you start to feel anything just let me... know..." She trails off as she notices that Fitz is just staring blankly at the wall behind her.

"...Fitz?"

His eyes flutter and for a moment she's afraid he's going to pass out, but he blinks and peers around the room. His eyes land on her worried, anticipating expression, and he realizes that she must've said something.

"Sorry... what?"

"Are you alright? You were just staring off into space..."

"Oh, I guess I was just lost in thought. We should probably uh, get the Gravitonium ready."

Jemma stands in shocked silence. Deep down, a little niggling voice in her says its all the symptoms of an absence seizure, but the thought is suppressed almost as soon as it occurs. He hasn't had a seizure since the hypoxia. ' _He's probably just tired. Plus, the medication can make your mind a little jumbled.'_

"We already gave it to Deke, remember?" She urges. He looks confused for a moment before pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Right. Sorry."

"It's alright. It's most likely the medication."

"Yeah... You're probably right. I'm gonna go rest for a bit." Fitz says, with no actual intention of resting.

oOo

His intentions and his actions didn't work out. Fitz is jolted from his impromptu nap as his chin slips from the hand he was supporting it with, spilling the coffee still in his other hand in the process. He hadn't meant to doze off, but sitting at a desk in a silent room staring at a piece of paper after being exhausted mentally and physically, can cause one to drift. He must not have been out of it too long, because the coffee was still scalding hot and currently burning his skin. He was originally in the mood for tea, but it doesn't seem to have been thought of when the Lighthouse was stocked. Coffee has more caffeine anyways, which he needs direly.

Swearing, he shakes his hand to dislodge the sepia liquid. He had holed himself at a desk in one of the many huge storage rooms trying to memorize the Lighthouse's layout via the blueprints, that are now covered with coffee stains. Thankfully, it's just a copy. He doesn't need to ruin anything else important. His whole body aches and his mind is screaming for sleep. The lengthy list of the effects caused by sleep deprivation run through his head unwittingly— mood swings, irritability, high blood pressure, paranoia, nausea, memory loss, depression, migraines, hallucinations, seizures, _suicidal_ _th—_

_Stop._

He blocks it out. He doesn't need any other hindrances right now. He already has to deal with the wound on his abdomen, not to mention the possible concussion from his earlier fall. He presses his palms against his eyes to try and abate the building pressure in his head.

_"You're a mess."_

He spins around at the sudden voice. He expects to see himself again, but to his shock, it's Alistair Fitz standing right in front of him. He gets up from the chair quickly as urges of obedience resurface. Painful memories from two lives come streaming to the front of his mind. He thought that seeing the Doctor would be bad... but this is so, so, much worse. A chill runs through him as the blood drains from his face.

"You're not real... You're just a hallucination. A delusion caused by exhaustion, and head injury..." He mutters to himself.

"Is that what you've been telling yourself?" His father inquires. The sound of his deep, rasping voice alone sends stabs of fear into Fitz' chest. "You always did have an overactive imagination."

"You died— _No—_ you _left._ " Fitz corrects.

"Now, why would I do that? If I would've left you with that pathetic excuse for a mother, you would be just as soft as her. She was a coward who couldn't discipline her own son properly. I had to teach her almost as much as I did you, _a child_."

Fitz clenches his teeth at the mention of his mother. He knows all too well what Alistair means by _'teach'_. It wasn't as bad in real life as it had been in the Framework, but it was still there.

"What you did was cruel."

"Oh, so you've grown soft now too? I thought I taught you how to be strong! I thought you understood that!"

Fitz flinches at the sudden change of tone, his body trembling.

"You taught me to be a murderer." Fitz states.

"I didn't make you kill anyone. You were second in command at Hydra, not me." He responds, tone dropping back to unsettlingly calm. "Everything else we did was for the good of the people. The Inhumans needed to be studied so we could learn how to apprehend them if they decided to come against us."

"They were people too. It's— it's not right..."

Alistair rolls his eyes at Fitz' insolence and takes a step forward, causing his son to back away.

"Am I going to have to teach you how to be a man again?"

"This isn't real..." He near-whispers, backing up until he hits a wall.

"Oh... I'm very real, _boy._ " Alistair crows antagonistically, staring at his son like a lion stalking a cornered gazelle.

This all seems too real.

_'So did the Doctor, but he was all in your head too...'_ His mind supplements.

His hands are flat against the concrete wall behind him as he presses himself as close to the wall as he can, wishing with all of his being that he had the power to phase through objects. His breaths quicken as his heart speeds up to an insurmountable rate.

"This... this has to be a dream... This isn't real..." He stammers shakily, "I don't— _Please..._ " He begs, his fear overwhelming his ability to fight back. As Alistair steps forward again, Fitz snaps up his shaking arms defensively to block any oncoming attacks.

"Look at you... quivering like a _child_." The older man sneers with disgust. "Do you know how much work I did to get you a good life?!" He surges forward grabbing Fitz' thin shoulders with a bone-crushing grip.

"Without me, you would be _nothing!_ An _idiot_ and a _coward!"_ He punctuates each hurtful word with a violent shake to Fitz' frame. Both men's eyes are wide, one with rage, the other with terror. The elder Fitz slams the younger into the concrete wall cracking his head in the same spot as before. Fitz squeezes his eyes shut in pain as his vision bleats out with spots of white and black simultaneously. "There's no hope for you. I should just end it before you do anything else you'll regret." Alistair strikes his fist into his son's face, re-breaking his healing nose, and throws him to the side viciously, causing him to slide on the floor a few feet.

_This isn't real_

Fitz tries to drag himself up, he knows he should be using his training, fighting back, but a voice in his head tells him he deserves it. Deserves the pain. Deserves to be punished. Those thoughts are drowned out by the pain from a swift kick to his stomach, slamming into the edge of his stapled incision. Two more kicks to his bruised, screaming ribs have him curled in on himself trying to protect himself as much as possible. His attempts are futile, he realizes, as he receives one more kick to the head, making his already muddled brain turn half-delirious. Fitz drags himself across the floor as much as his arms allow, coughing out a glob of blood. Alistair's shadow looms overhead, causing Fitz to cower once again.

_This isn't real_

"I should've known that you would defect. You're no better than the rest of these SHIELD scum. You disgust me." Alistair veers out, but Fitz barely hears him over the pounding in his head. Fitz screams as Alistair viciously steps on his hand, crushing the bones under his heavy weight. He unfurls Fitz by kicking him in the side to roll him on his back.

_This isn't real_

Getting down to straddle Fitz, he raises his right arm and strikes the boy again, head whipping to the side with a grunt and a splatter of blood. He joins his left hand with his right on his son's throat and smashes his head on the cement for the third time today. Alistair squeezes relentlessly, cutting off his son's air and blood flow.

_This... isn't..._

Being only half coherent already, his brain gives up and he loses consciousness.

oOo

Daisy didn't really know what she was doing. She hasn't had the motivation to really do anything since Fitz' _incident._ Deep down, she knows she's wrong. That it's petty to refuse him the chance to earn forgiveness, but she's not going to admit that... Not out loud at least. She just got back from digging up her mother's grave and is wandering the halls, trying to find something to keep her occupied until someone needs her. She comes to the end of the hall she's currently roaming, planning to turn on her heels and head to the kitchen for a snack, when she hears a voice she doesn't recognize coming from one of the storage wings. It could just be one of the new agents, but something feels... _off._ She couldn't make out what the voice said, but it sounded heated.

She moves slowly through the maze of shelves, trying to distinguish which direction the voice is coming from in the large echoing room. As she gets closer, she's able to make out some of what the person is saying.

"You're no better than the rest of these SHIELD scum... You disgust me." The gravelly voice fumes.

_What? Do they have a traitor?_

The voice has a familiar accent. She hears the rustle of fabric and an agonized scream that's achingly familiar. She quickly moves in closer and is startled to hear the sound of something hitting flesh, liquid splattering, and a pained yelp. Breaking forward, she stumbles into a scene that leaves her shocked. Alistair Fitz on top of _their_ Fitz, choking the life out of him. Fitz chokes and sputters, blood bubbling and leaking from his mouth as his legs kick out from under his father to try and dislodge the larger man to no avail. Only when Fitz' movements slow does Daisy snap out of her stupor.

She lifts her hand and quakes the wretched man off of her friend. The man flies into the wall and disappears in a puff of black smoke. Daisy takes a moment to try and process what she just witnessed.

She had only seen Alistair once before in the Framework, but she was pretty sure that was him.

_I thought everything from the fear dimension was gone for good...? Did he remove her inhibitor for nothing? Or is it residual? And why would he be attacking Fitz?_

Broken from her ponderings, she remembers Fitz and decides to finish that thought later. She turns around and sees that young man isn't there. The only thing left in his previous spot being the many spatters of blood.

"Fitz?" She calls out, getting no answer.

She moves to the end of the shelves and peers down both ends of the aisle, before noticing the trembling form huddled in a corner next to some shelves, cradling his broken hand. She's never seen Fitz this terrified in all the time she's known him. She stalks closer slowly, fearing she might frighten him even more. He only sees her shadow looming over him and he cowers, whispering something to himself. She can't make any of it out, so she moves closer.

_"This isn't real, it's all in your head wake up thisisntrealpleasewakeup_ —"

For a moment she thinks he's having another mental break, but she inspects the rest of him closer. She can't see much of his face, or torso, so she goes off what she can see. The brown curls on the back of his head are matted with blood which seems to be stemming from multiple places on his head. _No wonder he's so freaked out. With all those hits to the head, he probably can't see straight, let alone think properly._

She needs to see the rest of the damage to make sure there's nothing life-threatening, but it's not gonna be easy.

"Hey... You're okay..." She extends her hand to lightly touch his shoulder. He tenses and tries to curl up tighter— which doesn't seem possible at the moment.

"I'm s-sorry, Father. I'll be good now I prom-promise—" He whimpers heartbreakingly. Daisy has a sinking feeling that this isn't the first time he's said those words. She never even dreamt his childhood was... _this._ Maybe it was just in the Framework, but even so.

Pity and remorse accumulate in her stomach. The only thing Aida changed was making his father stay. If this is what he was like in the real world too...

She cringes. When she met Fitz, he seemed so innocent. So kind. Nothing like Grant Ward. He and Ward may have had similar childhoods... but they turned out nothing alike. Now that she thinks about it with new clarity... Fitz has always been apprehensive around strong male figures that he isn't close to.

She realizes now, how much she's taken Fitz for granted. How much she takes the surprising amount of compassion he has left, for granted. He may be broken, and he may have made some mistakes, but it was nowhere near the full betrayal Ward had done to them.

She also realizes how wrong she's been.

If anyone deserves forgiveness, after everything that has happened, its Fitz. She returns her gaze to the young man in front of her. He's still shaking with delirious anticipation.

"Fitz..." Her voice cracks slightly with emotion. "Fitz, it's me..."

"I'm sorry—" He stutters.

"Hey, hey, it's okay..."

Fitz slowly lifts his head to look at her. Dry and wet blood, originating from his nose and mouth, cover his chin and part of his lips. His broken nose seems to still be bleeding. A small black bruise stretches from the inner corner of his eye, feathering outward a bit before fading back into normal skin tone, and his cheek dons a dark patch of red specks from burst blood vessels under the skin.

His eyes refuse to focus, and the pupils are twice their normal size. He apologizes again and his face crumples. She knows that even though he's not directly looking at her, he's apologizing for the inhibitor _again._ His lip curls and he chokes a sob, blood trickling from his mouth. She stares at the broken form in front of her as she tries not to cry herself.

The memory of Fitz' arms wrapped firmly around her on the floor of the quarantine cell flashes in her mind's eye. Fitz was there for her when she was at her lowest, so she's going to be here for him too.

She scoots closer to him and pulls him into her embrace. He stiffens at first, staying stock still other than the involuntary tremors and the hitches of breaths in his lungs. Then his posture melts and he wraps his arms around her tightly, tucking his head in her shoulder, clutching the fabric on her back desperately. He whispers apologies over and over again in the midst of his silent sobs, barely coherent enough to grasp what happened or what's going on.

"Shh, it's okay... _I forgive you._ "

And it's true.

_**To be continued...** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww, I almost cried while writing that last scene. I'm pretty satisfied with this chapter and I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. Tell me what you think, and if you think I should keep going? Or end it here?
> 
> I think I might have some more creative juices for this one. (I'm also open to any requests or suggestions of what you would like to see in this story if I do continue further.)
> 
> Edit 12/10/18: I am continuing the story for those of you who were wondering. The next chapter should be out soon!


	5. Part  V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Hope everyone had a nice holiday! As you can see, I've decided to continue this story after receiving a flood of comments telling me to keep going. I'm sorry this chapter took even longer than usual, but I've been super busy with work, school, and the whole holiday season. Also, unfortunately, my dog had to be put down recently. Rest in peace soft boi.
> 
> Anyways, this is probably the most angsty chapter of the whole story, and the longest, but also one of the the best I think personally. So please keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle and get ready for more angst, emotions, and lots of whump, because this ride isn't over yet!
> 
> Happy 2019 everyone!
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy!

* * *

  _"There is no perfection, only beautiful versions of brokenness."_

_— Shannon L. Adler_

* * *

**Part V**

It's amazing how silence in and of itself can be deafening.

Daisy has a thousand questions that she knows can't be answered until a later date and time. He sits with his back to the side of a shelf, his right shoulder adjacent to the wall, and his feet bracing against the corner that is a few feet in front of him. Daisy sits to his left in the middle of the aisle, cross-legged.

She knows she should go get help for Fitz in his current state, but can't bring herself to disturb the silence. After a minute with her eyes closed, she hears something.

_Drip_

At first, she figures he's still crying and keeps her eyes shut out of courtesy.

_Drip_

_Drip_

She looks up. Fitz' head is completely limp against his chest, unconscious. Blood drips from his nose onto the floor. He passed out.

_Okay, now would be the time to get help for sure._

She scoots closer to him and wraps her right arm around his shoulders. She's about to tilt his head back to get a better look at his face but remembers you're supposed to keep it forward with a nosebleed. She berates herself for not checking him over earlier, as she had not witnessed the full extent of the fight. She unbuttons the bottom of his shirt to inspect the damage, just as Mack did a few days before.

Deep shoe shaped bruises mottle his stomach, layered over the yellow bruises from before.

_He just can't catch a break, can he?_

First he gets shot, then gets banged up in the beacon explosion, then Ruby.

His stapled incision looks irritated but not bleeding, so that's something. She wonders how she could get help without leaving him, then remembers her earpiece is still in.

_Oh, thank God..._

She taps the button on the small plastic device.

"This is Daisy Johnson, does anybody read me?"

_"This is Davis. Copy."_ Daisy is filled with relief at the quick response, and that it's someone she moderately knows.

"Davis, hey. I need you to find Simmons and tell her to go to the storage room on the 12th floor, with a med-kit ASAP."

_"Got it. On my way now."_

She turns her attention back to Fitz. She notices how cold he actually is, _and thin_. He feels so fragile and inanimate. She brings her left arm across his chest to join with the other in a sideways hug, to try and heat him up a little. _Has he really not been eating? or sleeping for that matter?_

She recalls when she had asked him on the day he... _snapped._

_"We have zero records of his actual research?" Fitz asked her with dread._

_"Nothing." She replied._

_Fitz took a breath before slamming his fist onto the computer desk._

_"Fitz! Oh my_ —

_"How is that possible?" He asked astonished, hands fisted in his hair._

_"Okay, you don't need to beat yourself, or the computer up over this." She can see how stricken and worn out he is._ _"Are you okay? Have you even slept?" His face turns frustrated._

_"During what_ _possible_ _period of time, Daisy?"_

_"Okay, Fitz, you don't need to carry the weight of the world." He leaned over, hands on his hips, before rubbing his face with his hand. "We are all here. I mean, even Yo-Yo wants me to set up a security feed in the med bay so she can watch out for anomalies." She consoled._

_"What am I missing..." He asked heavily._

Daisy brings herself from reminiscing as a suppressed memory makes itself known. One from the diner.

_She plowed through her scrambled eggs and a triple stack of pancakes at breakneck speeds, relishing the hot meal after not eating for a day and a half. She looked down to each end of the counter to see that everyone else's plates seemed to be bustling in much the same way... except a lonely plate full of spaghetti to her far left. The pasta was being pushed around lazily. The fork picked up a strand of noodles, it's holder staring at the food with obvious disinterest._

_"You're not eating." Jemma's voice denoted beside her. Fitz snapped up and dropped his fork. Having been lost in thought, he hadn't realized she was paying any attention to him. Daisy saw him instantly put up a mask of normalcy._

_"Yeah, no— not really hungry." He rubbed Jemma's back endearingly before turning back to his food with a haunted look on his face._

_Coulson started to speak, diverting everyone's attention, but Daisy glanced at Fitz once more from the corner of her eyes, mind still lingering on the altercation that just occurred._

_"This is my fault." She heard him say to Jemma softly before everything cut out._

The memory had been shoved to the back of her mind after they were abducted. He had been arrested just after. _What did he do while in prison? What was it like in there?_ The only reason she found out about his incarceration was through overhearing a conversation between Jemma and Coulson. She knows that prison changes people, she just wonders how much. She doesn't even know how long he was there for. What all had he done to become the marauder that he was?

Even being through all that, he was still kind and caring.

_"Hey, how's your head?" He asked her, crouched down, touching the side of her head gently as he inspected the gash by her hairline._

_"I'll tell you when the ringing stops." She responded wittily as he tied something around her hand. "By the way, 'fight to the death'? Really?"_

_"Yeah, well, I had to make a splashy entrance."_

_"Yeah, well, you could've jumped in the octagon yourself, then."_

_"Well, it wouldn't be fair, I do push-ups now. Double digits."_

_"That's impressive."_

She smiles at his sarcasm. She knows there was an ounce of truth to it though. When they had him locked up— she now cringes at the fact he was imprisoned again— she would watch him on the security cameras.

_He read for a while, the couple books that Simmons and May snuck in. Sometimes he would mutter to himself or pull at his hair. Other times he would just sit in a dull silence, banging his head against the wall every so often, but after long, he would grow stir-crazy and paced around his cell like a caged lion._

_His pacing annoyed her. The incessant wandering in circles threatening her patience. She almost put the security feed away before she spied him look at the window into the hall to check if anyone was there, then apprehensively looked at the camera in the corner of the room. His lips moved imperceptibly and his brow furrowed, like he was debating something with himself. Standing up straighter, it seemed he had come to a conclusion. He arched his neck to look at the stack of books by his bare mattress._

_The assemblage of hardcovers and paperbacks are gathered up into his arms, and taken to the other side of the metal table, before he_ _placed them into two neat stacks adjacent to each other. He dropped down to the floor and, supporting his toes on the books, started doing push-ups... push-ups?_

_'What the actual... Since when did Fitz start working out?' Daisy wondered dismayed._

_She had never seen him as physically strong before and figured he was joking about the push-ups before, but there's no way he could do that so quickly and intense without having trained prior. He went on for quite some time, and she eventually forced herself to stop watching his ministrations that bled frustration._

She wonders now if that's what he would do when he was locked up before. She unconsciously squeezes the engineer tighter as all the pieces of his puzzle come together in her head. She never understood him this much before. Tears threaten her eyes as she comes to the realization of how she's been treating him, and how her pointed words pierced the fickle walls of self worth that he's worked so hard to build.

_How could I do that to someone and not even realize?_

Footsteps sound near the doorway, and she instinctively hugged the unconscious agent tighter.

"Daisy?"

oOo

Jemma was confused to say the least, when she received Davis' message. What could've happened to Daisy that she needed medical, and wasn't able to come on her own? Unless... No. It can't be. Daisy's been avoiding him like the plague since both incidents occurred.

"Did she tell you what happened?" She inquires from Davis while bustling around the medical room to gather supplies in a large, cloth medical bag.

"No. She just gave me the location, and told me to send you and medical supplies." The blonde agent replies, his head turning back and forth watching her grab items hastily from around the room. "Do you want me to come with your? She sounded pretty serious."

She ponders his offer, before deciding that, whatever had happened, she would probably want some privacy.

"No, I've got it. You and the other agents seem busy with every going on."

"Alright, well, call me if you need anything. I mean it." Davis insists genuinely as she shoves a large stack of gauze into the bag.

"I will." Jemma acknowledges and lastly picks out a few bottles of liquid medications that she might need. She slings the strap of the duffel over her shoulder and sets off to the location Daisy mentioned. The halls are relatively empty since everyone is preparing for the Gravitonium launch, so the young doctor is easily able to traverse the corridors rather quickly.

Hundreds of possible scenarios make their way through her mind as she hurries to the storage room. She steps into the elevator and presses the button for the 12th level, before rapidly jamming the "close door" button impatiently.

Not that it ever really makes the doors close faster, but it makes her feel like she's doing something at least. The elevator seems to be taking forever to reach it's destination, making more time for irrational anxieties to pop in her head. She becomes jittery and starts bouncing her leg in an attempt to assuage her restlessness. Finally after an eternity the lift comes to a stop. She urges forward, squeezing through the barely parted doors. Thankfully a lot of the levels have the same layout, so she is able to navigate relatively easy.

She finally reaches what she believes is the storage room Daisy told her to go to. The doors were already opened which confirms her navigations once more. She peers inside and enters the large room carefully. Everything looks fine from the doorway. The large shelves are filled with an assortment of different SHIELD tech, weapons, and supplies. As she moves towards the center of the room she sees it. Crimson streaks and droplets on the concrete, and a alarming red smear on the wall where a head probably was.

_What could've happened that Daisy couldn't handle with her powers back?_

"Daisy?" She calls out apprehensively. A scuffling is heard and Daisy acknowledges her from behind a shelf.

"Oh— finally you're here! Great— that's great." She hears the younger agent mumble quickly, sounding greatly relieved. "We're over here."

_...We?_

She follows Daisy's voice around an aisle of shelves to a corner of the room. She is confused as to who the other person is... but then she see's him.

Daisy has her arms wrapped around Fitz comfortingly. The first glance garners shock from the doctor. Her shock turns to fear as she realizes that he's covered in blood once again.

"Fitz? What— _Daisy:_ _what happened?_ " Her tone left no room for delay.

"I was just passing by, when I heard someone talking about how SHIELD was scum or something. I didn't recognize the voice at first but then I heard— it sounded like someone was being beaten, then there was a scream."

Jemma's stomach clenches with equal amounts of horror, confusion, and anticipation. She busies herself by crouching down to look him over as Daisy continues explaining.

"When I moved in closer I uh... I saw..." The words have trouble forming on Daisy's tongue. Almost as if saying it aloud will make it real. "I saw his father. He was on top of Fitz choking him." She spills and Jemma freezes, focusing her attention back on Daisy.

"What... how?"

"That's what I'm getting to— When I quaked him off of Fitz, he poofed against the wall. It was one of those fear dimension things."

That makes a little bit more sense. They should've scanned the base for any lingering anomalies just in case. So they could've prevented this exact kind of thing from happening.

_He was already injured to begin with, and now this?_ The whole scenario sounded horrific. She knows how cruel Alistair was— in this world and the other— but this sounds brutal... and he looks it. Whatever else happened after Daisy saved him must've been enough for her to forgive him at least a little, considering she had been embracing him so protectively.

The doctor turns back to the limp form of her husband. His pulse is thready but there. She cups her hands on his stubbled, blood-spattered cheeks, and lifts his head up. That alone is usually enough to wake him normally, so she knows something must be seriously wrong. She calls his name and taps his face a few times to no avail.

Her fingers trail around the back of his head and they're instantly met with the sticky warmth of blood. His skull seems to still be bleeding sluggishly, from _multiple_ lesions.

_God..._ She was right about the wall. And the floor it seems.

She feels around to count the lumps, but her ministrations seem to have caused enough agitation to rouse him. His lips un-stick from being glued together with dried blood, and he lets out a weak moan.

"Fitz?"

He must not have noticed her presence, because her voice startles him causing him to jump and bump his head on the shelf. He suppresses a low whine.

_Not again._

He sees her outstretched hand and curls back into a ball covering himself, expecting another beating.

"Please—" He tries to speak, but it only comes out a whisper.

Jemma is trying very hard not to burst into tears at this exact moment.

"Fitz... you're safe. It's me and Daisy. We need to lay you down." He unfurls a bit and looks looks over to her with half-lidded eyes. His mouth opens and closes like a fish as if he's trying to say something, but no words come out. He nods, then eyes drift back to the wall in front of him.

"No no, Fitz. You need to lay down." Simmons gestures for Daisy to help her. Jemma reaches down to get a grip on Fitz's hand but sees the appendage is bruised and swollen, with two fingers sticking at odd angles. The bruise on the hand looking suspiciously like a shoe print. Her nose crinkles at the brutality thought.

_That's probably what caused the scream._

She avoids the hand and gets a grip further down. They each grab an arm and pull him as gently as they can. He groans, not having the strength to suppress his cries of pain. When they finally get him laying on his back, he makes little sounds of pain with every breath, his body trembles with effort.

"J-jem... I can't... you're m-more than that t-to me... you— you need to take it... _C-C_ _an't— can't b-breathe._ " Jemma's heart breaks as she's taken back to the escape pod at the bottom of the Atlantic. He's starting to hyperventilate because of the pain in his ribs. The return of his stuttering concerns her.

"Fitz— breathe! I'm right here. We're not at the bottom of the ocean."

Daisy looks over to her for some kind of consolation, but she returns an equally stumped expression. He feebly fights off her hands as if they're a threat. Unfortunately Simmons doesn't think she can snap him out of it this time. _As if it worked that well the first time anyways..._

"Can you hold him down?" She asks Daisy, having run out of options.

Daisy is struck with a sick sense of irony. Not that long ago she was pinned down, at his mercy. And now... he's writhing underneath her grip, helpless and stuck in whatever memories are enveloping his senses. A drop of water hits his face. It takes her a moment to realize it came from her own eyes. She rolls her eyes at herself. Sniffing, she attempts to rein in her emotions. _Now is not the time to be freaking out._

Jemma on the other hand has a scrutinizing glare, like she's piecing something together that wasn't quite right.

Every time her fingertips graze his skin he winces or sucks in a sharp breath of air. _He shouldn't be in this much pain with the medication in his system. Unless..._

It all makes perfect sense now. He hasn't been taking it.

_No wonder he's been so exhausted. Why can't he stop punishing himself? Being in this much pain and not letting the brain rest could cause a number of problems, not to mention the head trauma..._

To her horror, she was right.

Almost in slow motion, his body goes rigid, muscles tightening, and eyes rolling back. Then all at once he suddenly starts convulsing. His body jerking in Daisy's hold, back arching off the floor. Jemma swears.

"Put him on his side, quickly!" Jemma directs, and Daisy does as she's told. They roll him to his side and watch as red tinted foam slides out of his mouth. He curls into himself uncontrollably as the convulsions continue. Simmons mentally times the seizure.

00:12

Her heart pounds furiously.

00:17

Daisy glances with concern. "Shouldn't we put something in his mouth?"

"No, that could injure his his teeth or jaw." Jemma recites on autopilot.

00:24

He makes little involuntary grunts of exertion whenever there's a particularly violent jerk.

00:31

Every second feels like an eternity.

00:44

00:45

00:46

00:4—

The shaking slows, then stops. Jemma breathes a heavy sigh of relief. She needs to get him to the medical room once again. She considers Davis' offer but decides to enlist someone Fitz is more comfortable with.

"I need you to get Mack." She deadpans blankly. Daisy nods jerkily and scrambles up and out of the room, still reeling from everything that happened.

Simmons takes this moment of solace to try and process while she helps Fitz. She opens the medical bag and pulls out gauze, using it to wipe away the residual trail of blood and foam on his cheek. She presses the back of her hand to her mouth as a sob erupts.

She's so afraid. Afraid he won't ever be the same. Afraid this will happen again. Afraid something even worse will occur.

It's hard to believe that he used to be so innocent. Only four years ago, he was rambling about the perks of getting a pet monkey, and bickering with her about who the best Doctor was in Doctor Who.

Now it seems like the only times they talk its her questions of concern and his deflective answers.

_He's been suffering this entire time and I hadn't pushed hard enough to figure it out the true extent._

oOo

"Mack!" Daisy yells across the room as she enters. Mack turns quickly, looking up from a tablet, alerted by the sudden raised voice.

"What's wrong?" He inquires, brow furrowed with confusion.

"It's Fitz again." She responds. Her eyes are puffy and red, telling him that she's been crying.

_This can't be good._

"What happened?"

"I'll explain on the way, I just need you to come quickly!" He's startled by her urgency.

"Alright, alright, lets go."

She explains to him about the fear anomaly of Fitz' father, which makes Mack visibly pale. It seems Mack already had some inkling of Alistair's treatment of his son prior to this. Then tells him about everything that happened after. He frowns. Daisy enters the room once again with Mack in tow. She notices his unsettled expression at the sights he's presented with.

His eyes dart between the multiple spots of red coloring the predominantly gray and black room. They turn around the same shelf for what seems like the millionth time. His heart jerks at the sight in front of him. Fitz is even bloodier than the last time.

Shirt fully unbuttoned, inflamed stapled incision, and a new development: wicked shoe-shaped bruises.

Now that he's seeing Fitz' full torso, without the thick coating of blood, Mack notices sickeningly, how much weight he seems to have lost. He saw a small area before but this is on a whole other level.

No more is there the thin layer of softness that used to cover his body, his ribs poke out slightly under the layers of bruises. Sure he's gained more muscle than before, but it seems as if he's lost everything else that used to be in its place.

The left side of his face swollen and pale, but equally contrasted with the dark reds and purples of blood and bruises. A puddle of blood is gathered under his head and a second pool of crimsoned foam a few inches away. The cruel shadow of finger shaped bruises stand out viciously on his throat.

Mack can only imagine how scared the he must've been, facing his father— real or fake all the same— let alone what ensued soon after. With his head the way it was, the poor kid probably didn't even register that it wasn't his actual father. He most likely thought it was all in his head again.

Mack realizes he should've been keeping an eye on him better. His father was the real monster. Not Fitz. Alistair was the one who needed fixing, and Mack would've happily obliged with a helping fist to the face.

He knew Alistair was verbally abusive to his son, but he berates himself for not even thinking of the possibility that it was physical too. No wonder he's so screwed up.

_I would be too after all that._ He thinks.

He slowly crouches next to Fitz' broken form.

_It was just a fear manifestation. He might not have been that bad in real life._ He tries to deny, but then he remembers hearing Deke talk about the anomaly of his mom. _She was exactly like the real thing._

His fears are unfortunately proven true by that small detail.

He needs no instruction from Jemma, who is trying desperately to stave her tears. He slides his arms under the legs and back of Fitz' body, cringing when his hand slips across a sticky patch of blood soaked in the back for Fitz' shirt. He hoists the younger man up with ease, once again. His head tips back, dangling lifelessly as Mack lifts him, so he gathers him and rests his upper body closer to his chest. Fitz unconsciously rests his head in the crook of Mack's neck.

It feels like he's going to the infirmary all the time, whether it be for Coulson, Elena, or Fitz. Unlike the last time, Mack is so thrown from everything that when he takes a step forward, he steps right into the slick patch of blood, nearly dropping Fitz. He catches his balance almost immediately, but jars the young man in the process.

To the surprise of Jemma, and Mack, Fitz actually wakes up. Not fully though. He tenses and scrunches his eyes shut.

"No—" He croaks trying to push away. Mack sits him back down gently so he doesn't fall.

Fitz' face bleaches even paler and leans over to the side, blood spewing from his mouth. Daisy steps back in shock. He retches and coughs horribly, holding his stomach with his hand in an effort to stop the pain in his ribs the heaving is causing, to no avail.

"Damn." Simmons breathes.

"What is it?" Mack inquires.

"I think he's bleeding internally. We need to get him to the med bay. Now." Jemma says sternly.

_If it's not one thing, it's another._

"Alright, up we go." Mack grabs him and pulls him back into his arms.

"N-no... I-I d-don't... please I can t-take it—" Fitz pleads at something invisible. Mack tries to ignore the saddening pleas that are painfully suggestive as he quickly follows Jemma and Daisy back through the halls.

_He beats himself up for not being perfect. What kind of father breaks their kid like that?_

They walk in silence, each lost in their own thoughts and worries. The only sounds that are heard are footsteps on concrete and Fitz' labored breathing. It's not the breathing that bothers them though. Its the occasional choking sound heard when blood builds up in his throat, and the dripping that follows when it rolls out of his mouth and onto the hard floor.

This is so much worse than she originally thought.

They walk into the medical room at a brisk pace and Mack lays the shivering young man on to the operating table. Simmons immediately slipped on some latex gloves.

"Daisy, get me the ultrasound cart." Jemma orders.

Daisy quickly rolls the cart over to the table and plugs it in. Jemma looks over at Fitz, who is half-conscious tossing his head, groaning. Mack goes to grasp Fitz' left hand but sees how crushed it is, and pulls back his hand as if he's been burnt. He moves to hold Fitz' other hand instead, between his larger ones.

Simmons grabs a bottle from the cart and squeezes the green gel on to Fitz's stomach. She grabs the wand and presses it to Fitz' abdomen, but can't get a clear picture because he keeps moving around.

"I need you to hold him down— I can't see anything, he's squirming too much," Jemma asks.

Mack apprehensively grabs Fitz' arms and pins them down to the table. Fitz fights as hard as he can, still delirious. Mack actually struggles to keep the younger man down. He doesn't remember Fitz being this strong. What had all happened to him since they were taken from the diner?

"Fitz, I need you to tell me—"

"N-No! Stop! I've— I've a-already t-told you everything! I don't know where they went I swear!" Fitz yells, panic emanating from him in his feverishly confused state. "Please! I—I-i'm s-s-sorry—"

_His time in prison._

Jemma's heart breaks for him once again. _God... What did Hale do to him?_

"Hey, Turbo calm down! It's still Mack!" Fitz slows a little but still jerks weakly, trying to get away. Daisy comes over and grabs Fitz' feebly kicking legs, putting all her weight into pinning them down. Jemma presses the device to his stomach once again and glances at the monitor.

Splotches appear on the screen as she moves the device over the ridges of his abdomen.

"There! I think it might be his stomach or his liver. I can't tell until I open him up. I need to operate immediately." She says, as she runs and puts scrubs on. "Mack, you operated on Deke. You're going to help me."

They rush Daisy out of the room and leave her standing alone in the hallway.

oOo

Daisy's stomach has been roiling the whole time Fitz has been in surgery. She was perpetually nauseous, and anxious, and really just needed a hug. Although the person she really wanted to hug now, was the one currently under the knife.

She feels heavy and bogged down, like a server that's executing too many processes at once. Her processing systems are shutting down and they desperately need a reboot.

One thought does that exact thing.

Coulson and May don't even know what's happened in the last few hours. How had she not thought about that? She jumps to her feet, glad for the task now at hand to focus on.

The young Inhuman scours the halls for the two SHIELD veterans. Coulson will most likely be in the control center; May could be anywhere really. She decides to go for the safest bet first.

She keeps her eyes forward as she goes straight for the grated platform of the control area, that now has less than pleasant memories to accompany it. She can see the back of Coulson's jacket and is relieved to see that May is the other person here. Two birds with one stone.

May sees her first, and based off the fact that her expression goes from one of acknowledgement to worry, Daisy figures she probably looks as bad as she feels.

"Daisy... what wrong?" May asks sternly, prompting Coulson to turn around with concern.

Daisy's eyes instantly pool with unwanted tears.

"...Daisy?" Coulson adds when she doesn't respond.

"It's Fitz." Is all she has the strength belt out. Coulson's brow furrows.

"Daisy— we'll get him some help. His mind is very fragile after everything he's been through. I'm just sorry I wasn't here when he did... what he did." Coulson tries to console, not understanding her meaning.

"No— that's not— I... ugh!" She groans in frustration. Coulson and May look at each other with confusion.

"I'm over that now. I just... he's hurt again." Coulson's look turns back into concern.

"What do you mean?"

"There was one more fear dimension anomaly that we missed... it... it was his father, and he hurt Fitz. Bad."

Coulson's shock is palpable. He didn't know a whole lot about Alistair, other than what was in Fitz' SHIELD file. The only thing it mentioned was that he left when Fitz was a young child, although his psych evaluation had said there was most likely a history of some type of abuse. Fitz is such a bright young man and the fact that his father would do such a vile thing to his own child... it makes his blood boil.

May on the other hand, knew exactly how cruel Alistair Fitz could be. When Fitz was the Doctor, her superior, she noticed how he acted when around his father and when not. There was a noticeable difference to the trained eye of an agent. SHIELD _or_ Hydra. His dominance usually subdued, becoming almost imperceptibly submissive. Avoidance of eye contact, the twitching of fingers, the flinches whenever his father reprimanded him when they thought no one was watching.

Around other colleagues he kept it to a minimum, knowing it wouldn't be appropriate as his son is of a higher rank than him, but once the man thought they were alone he didn't hold back. Scolding his son for such trivial things, like his posture or over-zealousness, causing the young man stiffen and sometimes take an involuntary step back.

May didn't have the same compassion for him then. She even told herself he deserved it on a few occasions. Now though, her own actions haunt her.

The elder agents both held hard looks.

" _How_ bad?" Coulson inquires, dreading the answer.

"He's in surgery with Simmons and Mack. When I got there his dad was choking him. I think he uh— his head got hit a lot and he... he had a seizure. It all happened so fast. He was so confused and delirious, it was awful! It was like he couldn't see us, only the images in his head. He was hallucinating about his dad, and then the military facility he was held in, and the bottom of the ocean. Then he threw up blood and Simmons said he had internal bleeding, so they started operating right after." She finally finishes.

Coulson doesn't know how to respond. _Why is it always Fitz?_

Other than the internal bleeding, the head injuries worries him the most. If he was hit so much he couldn't comprehend anything going on around him, will there be lasting damage? His brain can't handle much more trauma at this point.

"I don't know what to do... I don't know what I'll do if... if he dies believing I still think of him as a monster." She sobs.

"You don't?" May asks, more than a little shocked. She didn't think Daisy would ever forgive him.

"No. Not anymore. Not ever again." She replies, voice hardening.

"I'm glad to hear you say that." Coulson states, before closing the distance and wrapping his arms around her as she lets the waterfall of emotions rush out in a raging torrent that crashes and bursts the dam.

"I was so horrible to him." She weeps into Coulson's shoulder, and May puts a comforting hand on her arm.

She will never turn her back on him or the team again.

Coulson and May decide to come with her to the medical corridor and they all wait and pray that Fitz will be okay.

**_To be continued..._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this chapter and please, tell me what you think! Your reviews make my week and they really help give me motivation for the next chapter.


	6. Part VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daaaaaang Nindragon, back at it again with the late chapter! It is bigger though! I'm trying to stick around 6K words now.
> 
> Sorry there won't be much Deke, but I don't know his character all that much to write him yet. Plus he was in part three, so that's good enough for me. Heheh that rhymed.
> 
> And THE TRAILER THOOOOO.
> 
> What's up with Jemma crying in the cryo-freeze chamber with a bloody hand print on the glass? WHO TOOK OUR BOY? There's a theory about Kasius' brother resurrecting the dead Fitz, who would turn into the Doctor. (frozen Fitz would be okay of course) I just hope Daisy won't have any lingering hatred toward present Fitz, since he technically wasn't the one who hurt her.
> 
> Also who is this amnesiac version of Coulson? I kind of thought Coulson was dead for real this time, but I should've known that he wasn't DEAD dead.
> 
> Anyways, have fun! (Well, as much as you can with this story.)

* * *

_"There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds."_

_― Laurell K. Hamilton_

* * *

**Part VI**

Daisy listens to the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor as she counts the ceiling tiles for the twenty-third time in the last half hour. She was surprised that a few of the rooms on this floor had actual ceilings and weren't just carved into the concrete that envelops almost every surface here. She risks a glance at Fitz again. He's still sleeping. She constantly feels like he'll wake up if she looks at him too long. Like the shifting of her eyes alone is too loud in the empty room. He's been asleep for too long in Daisy's eyes, but it's not anywhere near as bad as his post-hypoxia coma, but then again, Jemma said this could happen.

**_Two days ago..._ **

_After four hours of waiting, Simmons and Mack stepped out of the operating room looking worse for wear. Jemma's already messy ponytail looked more unruly than before, and Mack's forehead glinted with beads of sweat. Jemma was removing and disposing of blood covered latex gloves. The small group in the waiting area (which is more like a row of chairs against the wall near the door) stood up and waited for news expectantly. Simmons huffed a breath of apprehension._

_"He's alive." She stated first. Everyone sighed in relief. "Not without complications, though... He... We almost lost him. Twice,"_

_Jemma and Mack shivered at the memory of Fitz' body jerking up and slamming down from the defibrillator shock traveling through his body, but she continued._

_"The cause of the internal bleeding was a small tear in his stomach, which is the reason he vomited blood earlier. We were able to successfully repair the damage. Two of the metacarpals in his hand were shattered, resulting in the attached fingers being displaced, which I've pieced together, inserted small pins to help aid in healing properly and placed in a brace for the time being. I'm mostly worried about his head trauma. There was Cerebral Edema present― swelling in his brain― but I think with a little time and the right medicines, the swelling should come down on its own. I had feared worse when he started stuttering after waking earlier, but I'm optimistic that there won't be any lasting damage. At least I hope not. Not again."_

_She hoped to God that he doesn't end up needing physical and speech therapy once again. After his Hypoxia, he had trouble walking the first month or so without help. There were several times she had come into the lab to find him on the floor, having tried to walk on his own. That was only a month, but his hands were still shaky and uncoordinated even when Simmons had returned from being undercover. Not to mention his speech impairments._

_"I have no idea when he'll wake up, and I know he hasn't eaten that much since he recovered from the last injuries... although recovered is a strong word. And it's not like he was eating much before that either... so I've placed a feeding tube in again."_

_Daisy looked up, caught off-guard._

_'Again'? He had one before? Daisy questioned in her mind, confused. She realized that she didn't visit him at all during his time in the infirmary. I mean, yeah, he's a little scrawny but... she figured it was because he had been working out. She tried not to look too closely when they had examined his wounds earlier, but now she wished she had. Jemma saw her stunned expression and the doctor's face turned into exasperated understanding, with a flash of disappointment at Daisy not being present in the first place to know these things beforehand._

_"You're all free to see him now," Jemma told them, knowing they were all itching to set their eyes on the downed agent. Coulson and May filed in with Simmons close behind when Mack turned to Daisy with a sigh._

_"I'm gonna go get cleaned up, and tell Yo-Yo what happened." He informed her. She nodded and gave a tight smile. Since the whole 'Locking-him-in-Fitz-cell' thing, they haven't really made the time for chatting. He didn't even know if anyone told her about the first incident. He turned tiredly, wiping his head on his sleeve, and headed out the east side of the corridor._

_Daisy turned back to the doorway and steeled herself. She walked slowly to the bed at the center of the opposite wall in the dimmed hospital-like room. The fluorescent lights from above casted a shadow on his face that made his cheekbones carve dark shadows on his already thin cheeks, enhancing his deathly appearance. His left eye and cheek were still swollen and bruised, nose not looking much better._

_She's noted that he wasn't wearing a hospital gown, probably so Simmons can check out his incisions easily while he's unconscious. The only thing that covered his form, other than his boxers most likely, is a thin hospital blanket that came up to his chest, leaving his lightly muscular but bony shoulders exposed, and prominent collarbones jutting out noticeably. A couple of unexplained scars were visible on his pale chest and shoulders. Her eyes traveled down his arms to his hands. His right elbow had a sizable yellow bruise that looks older. The right hand's knuckles were still peppered with cuts, and the left was in a brace that extended up his pinky and ring finger, keeping them straight, with gauze peeking out from under the black straps._

_Daisy felt sick. How had she not noticed his ragged appearance before? Did it really take all this for her to open her eyes? She looked over at the other occupants of the room. May had a hard expression with underlying concern, and Coulson looked deeply saddened, not unlike a worried father._

She breaks away from the memory that she's run through too many times. She has questions about some things, and she knows Fitz won't talk about them willingly. She needs to find someone who will answer them for her and she knows exactly who to go to.

Daisy leaves Fitz' hospital room, pledging not to be gone too long. Simmons has been staying in the next room over and was just waking from the quick nap that Daisy had forced her to take.

"Hey... can I talk to you?" Daisy asks softly, alerting Jemma to her presence.

"Of course. What's wrong?" The doctor inquires upon seeing Daisy's troubled expression.

"It's about Fitz... and his father... The fear anomaly things act exactly like the actual person would... so does that mean...? Y' know..." She trails off, not having the heart to say it out loud. Jemma pauses for a moment before sighing in resignation.

"...Yes, I know..."

Daisy waits anxiously for her to continue.

"And your suspicions are correct." Jemma breathes sadly. "His father was a drunk who would belittle Fitz with every chance he got. It's one of the main reasons Fitz was so shy a while back. When I first met him at the academy, he always sold himself short, thinking all of his ideas were rubbish. I mean, at that point, he was told he was worthless for most of his life. He was just programmed to think that way."

Daisy's stomach drops, and she wonders how she hadn't known about this before.

"Fitz had said the years leading up to his father's departure he would get angrier, and more violent, though Fitz never went into any further details. I can only imagine what it was like in the Framework; the abuse escalating until they reached some sort of a calming point. Maybe Fitz gave in... Maybe he just resigned to becoming his father or doing everything he wanted no questions asked. Fitz almost completely refuses to talk about his life there. He just shuts down whenever I've tried." She admits flabbergasted.

"From what I've gathered, he had a love-hate relationship with his father there. He feared him but was forced to look up to him since Alistair was all he had. Having to be perfect every second of every day _had_ to be exhausting." She brushes her palm against her forehead and stops herself from going any further. "Hopefully that answers your questions."

"It did." God, it did, but she wishes the answer was different. No wonder he was so screwed up in the Framework. He never had a chance or even a choice. Especially since AIDA programmed the Framework to exactly how she wanted it. He was just a puppet, a slave, manipulated and forced to obey— to _love_ — his master, unwillingly. The reality of the android's actions is disgusting just to think about.

"Thanks." She says curtly to Simmons for being willing to share. Daisy heads back to Fitz' room to resume her position, thinking for a while on what Jemma had told her.

oOo

Daisy has been staying put by his side, intent on being there when he wakes up to apologize for being so harsh with him the last couple weeks and try to repair some of his mental walls that she had broken down mercilessly. And she really just wants to hug him. She looks over at him quickly again, thankful that she doesn't have to look at those nasty bruises on his torso since Jemma had recently put a white t-shirt on him. She runs her fingers through her dark hair and stretches her neck, preparing for more long hours in the stupidly uncomfortable chair. She can't help but grumble.

"Like seriously, why can't they make hospital chairs that don't make your ass sore for a week…"

"Well, they probably weren't expecting people to sleep in it." She jumps at the sudden hoarse voice and turns to see Fitz' eyes trained on her with heavy lids.

"Oh my g— you scared the crap out of me!" She says automatically with a hand over her heart, before realizing the circumstances. "But— you're awake!"

He's more than a little confused. Why was she so happy that he was awake?

"What—" He scrunches his eyes at the uncomfortable feeling of a foreign object going down the back of his throat. He lifts a hand to feels for the tubes attached to his nose. One is a nasal cannula delivering oxygen that he can easily be taken off; the other is a tube with a white-ish liquid traveling through it.

An NG tube? Why would... wait—

"How long have I been asleep?" He asks suddenly.

"A couple days."

A couple of days alone shouldn't be the cause for a feeding tube. Sure he's lost a couple pounds, but it's not like he has an eating disorder God's sake. He's just been... busy.

His whole body is filled with a dulled ache, and he feels extremely tired. What all happened? He can't seem to remember which is unsettling. His head feels odd. Somethings not completely right— well, more than usual anyway. His throat feels painfully sore...

_Oh,_ _God._

The memory of his own father choking him comes flooding back full force. Nausea grows in the pit of his stomach. He can feel the heavy body pinning him down, putting weight on his already injured torso, large fingers wrapped around his throat with nails digging into the side of his neck and the pressure crushing his windpipe and he _can't breathe_ —

"FITZ!" Daisy's shout breaks him from the horrible sensations he's feeling. The sound of the unnaturally accelerated beeping of the heart monitor follows soon after. She lays a hand on Fitz' shoulder. "Are you okay?"

He tries to get his breaths to slow down enough to answer her.

"Ah... y-yeah. I think so." He stutters. Licking his lips he avoids her scrutinizing gaze. Her eyes will only be filled with disdain, which is rightfully deserved. He just personally doesn't have the energy to hate himself even more right now. The details of the attack are hazy. He remembers his father showing up, but wasn't that just in his head? And if it was just in his head, does that mean he harmed himself? He vaguely remembers Daisy's voice after he was attacked. She most likely saw the whole thing and probably thinks he's even more psychotic than before.

How could he have been so stupid? He should just inject himself with a syringe full of air and get it over with, or maybe a slice to the throat would be more fitting, considering he cut into Daisy's neck not two weeks ago. He closes his eyes and waits for the inevitable lashing he's bound to receive.

"God, we were so worried." Daisy sighs.

"We?" He questions.

Daisy gives him a quizzical look.

"Yeah, the team."

It's been a while since he's heard that term. He already knows Jemma is worried and he isn't surprised about Coulson and May, but Daisy and Mack? He figured they would be glad if he disappeared.

Daisy looks like at him with anticipation, like she thinks he's going to spontaneously combust.

"Daisy—"

"—I'm sorry." She interrupts.

He stares in shock. The spontaneous combustion had a better chance of happening than _Daisy_ apologizing to _him._

"What do you h—" He wants to say full sentences but the tube intruding in his throat forces him to keep it short. "...Why?"

" _'Why?'_ I've been horrible to you..."

"It's nothing I don't deserve." He whispers hoarsely. She wants to retort but notices his discomfort at talking, as well as the exhaustion radiating from him.

"That's not..." She sighs in resignation. This conversation will have to be finished later. He brings up his right hand to fiddle with the feeding tube. "Don't. I'll get Simmons so she can take it out properly."

He nods before grimacing at the movement.

It doesn't take long for Jemma to get here, so Fitz deduces (taking longer than he'd like) that she must've been staying in one of the adjacent hospital rooms. Everything seems to be processing slower in his mind. It's a depressing and ironic thought, that the only thing you could possibly consider an attribute about him, was also the thing that was most broken. He realizes that now, and it's not helping.

Jemma looks at him with never-ending worry in her eyes, and Fitz returns a gaze of seemingly also never-ending guilt. He can see all the questions she's dying to ask bubble beneath the surface of her concern, threatening to burst out. He can tell she's holding them back for his sake.

"Jem—"

"Pulling up the tube might trigger your gag reflex, so try not to breathe too deeply. It will make your throat contract." She cuts him off. Being familiar with the sensation, remove the tube was a cinch.

"Do you know why I had to administer the NG tube?" She asks him with a slightly accusatory tone. He felt like a child again, when his mom asked him why the head teacher at his school had called her at work when she very well knew the answer. "I can tell just by looking at you that you've lost a considerable amount of weight. I didn't mention it before because I thought you would start eating normally again once we settled here at the Lighthouse, but I'm afraid it's only escalated. Why haven't you been eating properly?"

That's the question. He just doesn't know if his excuse will be good enough for her.

"I... I've just been distracted. You know how I get when I'm really focused on something."

"That can't be the only reason. There have been multiple times when we weren't doing anything pressing and I still didn't see you eat that much."

"Well, I guess I'm just used to my eating habits from the military facility. My stomach can't hold as much as it used to. The food there was terrible but I took what I could get. What I would've done to get a prosciutto sandwich—" He tries to joke, but it falls flat as suspicion sneaks into her expression. _Used to it? Took what he could get?_ Maybe she's looking too much into it, but she has to be sure.

"How often did they feed you?" He averts his eyes from hers. Looks like she hit a mark.

"It's not—"

"Answer the question." She deadpans.

"I don't see what all the fuss is about. It's not like they starved me the whole time I was there, Jemma." Fitz says defensively.

"Then answer me."

"Fine— ah..." He scrunches his eyes in concentration and counts on the fingers of his good hand. "I got my meals I think... every day or two... give or take." He doesn't notice the look of sorrow on her face, and the look of pity on Daisy's. His voice drops lower as he continues to calculate the days. "Yeah, because they would take me to interrogation once a day and then right before food on meal days. I think. They never let me have a clock, but the football games sometimes... displayed the time..."

_Interrogation? God, she doesn't even want to know right now._

No wonder he can barely eat. Even having one meal a day can do horrible things to a person's health, not mention make it incredibly difficult to start eating normally again, let alone every other day. On top of his already small appetite after the Framework, she's not surprised he hasn't been eating.

"Fitz... you and I both know that's not a healthy way to live. You should have told me." Jemma says to him softly, trying to get him to understand.

"I know. It's just— every time I go to eat something I just lose my appetite. Thinking about eating beforehand feels normal in my head, but once it's in front of me, I just can't get myself to eat it. Then I think about all the Inhumans in the Framework that I starved before experimentation and I start to feel sick. I know it's irrational since most of those people didn't actually exist, but to me..." He shakes his head. "It was too real."

"Oh, Fitz..." Jemma feels sick, and Daisy's not much better. Will he ever truly recover from the Framework? She takes a cleansing breath. "Alright. We'll try to figure out a plan for that later on. Onto the second order of business, I checked your blood-work and noticed you didn't have any pain medication in your system when you know you were supposed to be taking them for your previous wound. Why haven't you?"

He looks up at her, wishing she would drop all of these questions.

"I ah... they make my head feel fuzzy and drowsy and uncoordinated. I needed to be in full working order to prepare the Gravitonium, and I can't do that when it takes me twice as long as usual to do the simplest of tasks." He excuses.

"That's rubbish and you know it. You've managed fine taking them before. You can't just go on without them; you-you could've gone into shock, or something worse! You _have_ to stop punishing yourself. Please, just tell me what's been going on with you!"

"I don't deserve it. I do more harm than good. Father was right. I'm just a worthless waste of space. A liability." He rasps depressingly, staring intently at the ceiling with dispassion.

His words cut deep. Jemma never knew how extensive his feelings were on this front. His eyes were the darkest and most devoid she's ever seen them, and she realizes what's left them: the will to live.

"You listen to me. Do you think that little of me, that I would fall in love, and _marry_ someone that was worthless?"

He snaps his eyes to the side to gauge her expression, deciding if she's telling the truth. All he can see is the raw truth to her words. Why does she love him so much? She's more than perfect and he's anything but. She deserves someone who is just as wonderful. He decides to take a leap of faith, and speak out these insecurities. His features pinch and the muscles in his jaw clench as he tries to keep his emotions at bay.

"Why? I— what have I done to deserve you? I'm not good enough... you deserve so much better. You deserve someone who isn't broken. Who hasn't slaughtered innocent people, or-or who needs to be punished for everything wrong he did but _no one will listen!_ I keep trying to tell people I'm not worth it, but... you just keep trying to— to fix me! You can't fix me, I'm broken beyond repair!"

Jemma is at a loss at how to handle the situation as his voice gains in volume.

"I need to answer for the things I've done, _please!_ It just keeps getting heavier and heavier as I continue to add to the list of horrific things I've done and I— I need to release this pressure in my chest somehow! So just— hit me, or lock me up, or-or kill me! The longer you keep me here the more of a risk I am to everyone around me."

His advances grow more frantic, and he painfully sits upright in the bed. "You could take me back to prison— I already told them I did everything, so they'll let all of you go if they have me." Jemma's heart breaks for the umpteenth time in the last week.

"Fitz, you know I would never let you do that! I love you. _We_ love you."

Fitz looks over at Daisy who— to his dismay— has tears streaked down her face. He stops and stares at her shocked, before looking down at the blanket covering his legs. He takes deep breaths to get his chest to stop pounding so fast. Daisy glides over to the bed and crouches down, laying a hand on the fabric covering his knee. The touch startles Fitz and he jumps before looking her up and down in confusion.

"I meant what I said before. I am _so sorry."_

"You have nothing to be sorry for." He says flatly, avoiding her eyes once again. "It's me who should be apologizing."

"No. You shouldn't. I forgave you when I realized the circumstances... It should've been way sooner..." She scowls before her face softens. "Is it true, how you feel? When you were delirious in the control room, before May iced you, you tried to shoot yourself in the head... you claimed it was only because you couldn't think clearly, but that's not true is it... you really wanted to end it." It wasn't a question so much as a statement. She can see the turmoil bubbling inside of him as he clenches his good hand around part of the blanket, holding in his emotions.

She already knows the answer when he slowly looks up at her with such deep sorrow held in his gaze, before looking away, but still, he gives a slight nod. Jemma's hand draws up to cover her mouth. He swallows, brows drawing together as he fights tears that are burning to be released.

"It was... the only way to make _him_ stop." He whispers. There's no question as to who _'him'_ is. "So everyone would be safe."

How horrible it must be to house someone so evil in your head. There's nowhere you can go to escape from your own mind...

Speak of the devil.

The slithering voice surges out of its hiding place in the recessed shadows of Fitz' mind.

_'You were too weak to even carry that out. If you can't even bring yourself end your life, something already deemed a coward's deed... what does that make you?'_ Chills run up his spine at the reappearance of his worst nightmare.

"Shut up." He seethes.

Jemma snaps out of her stupor at the whisper that leaves his lips. He's hearing _him_ right now. She's never seen it happen in person before, other than when he was in the throes of a nightmare. He usually hides it from everyone quite well. Sickeningly well. He's shaking all over and staring at the bed unseeingly while clenching the white blanket in his fist tighter, his knuckles an equal shade of ivory. The heart monitor jumps in pace. She can tell he's struggling with his inner demons, quite literally.

Daisy is starting to panic a little when she can't get his attention. Shaking his leg with her hand and saying his name isn't working and it's starting to freak her out.

"Fitz?"

No answer. Red seeps outward from the section of the blanket he's squeezing. The crescent cuts on his palm re-opened as his nails dig up the scabs through the thin fabric. The muscle in his jaw spasms at the strong gritting of his teeth. Alarms on the heart monitor start blaring, alerting that his vitals are jumping all over the place. His breathing turns into short, ragged, rasps as he gets a few steps closer to hyperventilating. He can't take much more of this, especially with his body in the condition it is, stress can be extremely harmful.

Jemma runs over and touches his shoulder, desperate for him to snap out of it. She realizes now that he's not just listening to the voice, it's sending him into a full blown panic attack. Both of his hands shoot up to cover his ears. A futile attempt to protect himself from the barrage on his mind, unaware of his damaged left hand screaming at him. He's gasping for breath now, eyes clamped shut. He starts slamming his hands against the sides of his head desperately.

"No no, don't do that—"

If he stays like this for much longer he's going to pass out. Jemma jumps in and tries to snap him out of it. She places her hands on his fevered cheeks, careful to avoid the bruises.

"You have to breathe!" She yells, trying to breathe through an invisible barrier.

She worried that the brace will do even more damage to his head or hand, but nothing she does is working, meaning she's going to have to use her last resort. Daisy watches her abruptly stand up, and she takes her place at his side, trying to calm him. He's shaking all over, gasping, seemingly trying to block out all of his senses.

Jemma darts over with a syringe full of clear liquid. At the sight of the needle coming towards him, Fitz snaps, smacks the syringe to the floor, and grabs her wrist with bone-crushing strength. His chest heaves air shakily as he stares at the hand in his grasp.

"Fitz!" Daisy shouts with shock as Jemma tries to escape from the painful, terrified grip. His tremors are so violent, her hand shakes with them.

"Fitz..." Jemma tries for a softer tone. Harsh words are the last thing he needs right now. "Fitz, please... you're hurting me." He blinks a couple of times and his breath hitches. He looks at the scene in front of him and his eyes widen, a look of horror overtaking his features. He lets go of her wrist instantly.

"No..." He breathes. "I'm... I'm so sorry!" He scrambles off of the bed, yanking off the wires and ripping out his IV. He stumbles a little, wrapping his injured arm across his biting ribs.

"It's alright, it was an accident..." She tries to reassure him while avoiding the urge to rub the feeling back into her wrist.

"N-no, I swore that I would n-never hurt you..."

_I deserve to suffer for this._

"I know it wasn't on purpose. It's okay—"

"No, it's not! I-I crossed a line..."

_I need to be disciplined._

He backs up the far corner of the room, eyes searching for a means of achieving his goal. He snatches a scalpel from a nearby tray, pointing it forward at Daisy.

"I've done horrible things, I hurt you for something we could've solved with other measures if I had tried harder. I only hurt you to make myself feel better. You deserve justice." He deadpans darkly. Daisy isn't completely sure where he's going with this.

"What are you saying? You want me to fight you?" She guesses incredulously.

"Why not? You've sparred with May and Coulson. It's my fault he's going to die." She hadn't even dreamt of blaming him for Coulson. She realizes he's just trying to egg her on.

"Not when they were hurt— and that isn't your fault!"

"You said I'm a monster. Don't you want to make me feel the pain that you did? Make me suffer for all the hurtful things I've said and done? If I wouldn't've killed Will on Maveth, Lincoln would've never had to sacrifice himself to kill Hive. What about that, huh?" He spits with forced arrogance. He knew it was a low blow, mentioning Lincoln, but it was the only thing he imagined would catch her off guard. Jemma had a similar reaction at the mention of Will.

"You're not a monster. Now you're just grasping at straws…"

"Am I? I knew him in the Framework. I experimented on him, day and night until he died a horrible death after weeks of torture. Still, think I'm not a monster?"

Anger flairs in her chest involuntarily at the mention of Lincoln enduring something so horrible, but she knows that wasn't real, and he doesn't mean it. Anger is exactly the reaction he wants.

"You _loved_ him! I deserve to suffer just as much pain as I put him through, so GIVE ME WHAT I DESERVE!" He shouts, slamming his hands on the metal cart next to him for emphasis, and looking completely out of sorts.

He's still shaking, but he's covered in sweat, and his cheeks have reddened significantly in exertion. Tears of anger pool in his eyes, but don't dare fall. He's definitely getting frustrated. The walls are finally starting to crack.

"No." She says firmly. He steps forward with the scalpel still glinting in her direction. She's not sure if the shaking is still from his physical state, or barely contained rage anymore. She stands her ground as he advances, knowing he won't hurt her again. Jemma goes to take a step forward and stop him, but Daisy puts a hand out to halt her. She shakes her head slightly as she glances at the doctor from the corner of her eye, signaling that she's got this. Jemma hesitantly steps back.

Even though he's currently holding a sharp object at her and has a dangerous glint in his eye, she's surprisingly not afraid. Maybe it's because she understands him better now, or maybe his attire of only a t-shirt and boxers makes his appearance seem less threatening, she's not sure.

He brings the tip of the metallic blade up to her throat, inches away from the skin.

"You're really not going to fight me?"

"No."

"Not even if I threaten you?"

"No."

He scrunches his eyes and makes a loud growl of frustration that dies down into a whine of desperation.

"Quake me. You've done it before. Why not now?"

"I'm not doing it —"

"Hurt me. _Please._ " He begs.

That specific sentence he uttered makes her heart ache. She can tell he's on the verge of collapse from the combination of physical pain and emotional exhaustion.

"I need to pay for my sins."

"You already have!"

He shakes his head furiously, before stilling.

"So you don't care if I threaten your life… but what about my own…?" Her calm façade slips.

He brings the blade up to his own throat.

"I know you want to stop me from doing this for some reason, so do it. Knock me out so I don't do us all the favor of ending it." He veers out spitefully.

"I'm not hurting you, and I'm not letting you hurt yourself either. We _all_ forgive you for _everything._ " She states, not even trying to hold back the tears burning her eyes.

He slowly lowers the blade a little and then puts the heels of his hands on his forehead, the scalpel still gripped tightly in his fingers, sticking upwards. "No. You shouldn't… you shouldn't…" He extends his arm back out and points the knife at her accusatorily. "Wait— you saw what happened in the storage room. You watched me hallucinate everything. How did I get injured? Was I hurting myself? Choking myself like a psychopath? Or did you have to choke me yourself to knock me out of my delusions?"

Whoa, whoa… does he seriously think the fear anomaly attack was all in his head? Daisy mentally berates herself. She forgot no one told him what had happened. She guesses a part of her hoped he was alert enough when she arrived, to understand what went down.

"Fitz... It wasn't in your head, it was a leftover fear anomaly. I saw him too, and I quaked him against the wall— He poofed into a cloud of dust." She explains. His posture sags a little and he seems to be going over what he remembers to see if her story lines up. His fingers go slack and he lets the scalpel clang to the floor. He looks up at her hesitantly.

"He was real?" Daisy nods reassuringly. A low whine escapes his mouth at not realizing this sooner. "I should've seen it. Why didn't I see it?" He asks himself bitterly.

"It's not your fault. You could barely speak when I got to you because your head got hit so many times. I'm surprised you remember anything at all." Daisy supplies.

"Agh… but it makes sense— I've never actually been injured by uh... _you know_ , before..." He nearly whispers. He presses his hands over his eyes, feeling extremely guilty about how he had just acted.

"I'm sorry I was so... harsh. I just..." Those angry tears collapse down his face, defeated, and blanched of all fury.

"I know," Jemma replies.

He lets out a small mirthless laugh before he the adrenaline that was keeping him upright disintegrates, and his legs give out, folding under him. Catching himself in a kneeling position, Daisy and Simmons both dart over to help him; the girls grab and duck under each of his arms, equally helping support his weight. They guide him over to sit back on the bed.

"Sorry." He apologizes for being such a burden.

"Stop that. We're all here for you. It _will_ get better, I swear to you." Jemma says putting a hand on his shoulder. He looks up at her with something she hasn't seen from him in much too long: hope. The hot tears gathered in his eyes continue pool over and he brings his hand up to his shoulder to lay atop hers.

"You're almost there." She says just like when he was recovering from the Hypoxia, except this time, she's real.

Jemma and Daisy sit on either side of him on the edge of the bed. Everyone is so emotionally charged from the last week, it's nice to just sit in each other's presence, knowing that no one has any hidden resentments.

Daisy wipes her tears away with the sleeve of her sweater.

"Hey, um, this is probably going to sound stupid, but... ah screw it—" She decides not to waste any more time and firmly wraps her arms around him. He stiffens, but quickly reciprocates the gesture, making both her and Jemma smile. It's oddly relieving for Daisy, being in his embrace. He tucks his head tiredly in her shoulder, and Jemma can't help but smile. After a few moments, they release and Fitz speaks up, voice cracking with emotion.

"Thank you. Both of you."

"It's nothing you wouldn't do for us. You should lay down, Coulson and the others are very anxious to see you." Jemma says with more joy than she's had in a while.

"Yeah, if May sees you out of bed in this state, she'll have all our heads." Daisy pipes in, causing Fitz to smile a little. They've barely scratched the surface of his issues, and they still have a long way to go, but he's closer.

"Before you get settled again, is there anything you need?" Jemma asks caringly. He's about to say no before something pops in his head.

"Actually… I don't suppose I could get a sandwich…?" He mentions hesitantly, not knowing if she has time for something so trivial. Her eyes light up with surprise.

"It would be my pleasure."

**_To be continued…_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed part 6! Next up will be some fatherly Coulson bonding, and some actual face-to-face with Mack. I might throw some Yo-Yo in there for good measure. There's still going to be more recovery involved for Fitz, too. He's not completely better just yet.
> 
> I hope nobody is too OOC, but I just had to take some creative liberties to enhance the whump. Please tell me if you liked this chapter!


	7. Part VII

* * *

 "Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars."― Kahlil Gibran

* * *

**Part VII**

Jemma stares at the barely eaten sandwich on the plate in her hands. Fitz had only gotten through a fourth of it before he couldn't do anymore, claiming he was nauseous, although Jemma has a sinking feeling that he just doesn't feel as if he deserves it. He asked her to save it in the fridge for him, not wanting to waste a― in his words― work of art. She sighs in defeat, hoping he would start to eat more, but she knows they're going to have to take it slowly. It's quite obvious that he's depressed, she's known that since the Framework. The effects on his appetite are proof enough, but the doctor in her goes into overdrive and runs through all of the signs and symptoms that he exhibits.

Fatigue or loss of energy, feelings of worthlessness or guilt, isolation, impaired concentration or indecisiveness, insomnia, recurring thoughts of death or suicide, significant weight loss...

_All the symptoms of major depression? Check. Symptoms of extreme self-loathing? Double check._

As for his concussion, the symptoms for that have been quite trying as well. The nausea chief among them. She peruses the cabinets and grabs some cling wrap to cover his sandwich as she thinks.

His responses are somewhat delayed, bright lights hurt his eyes, and she can tell his head is killing him even though he won't outright admit it. But despite all that, he's already getting restless not doing anything. He practically begged to have his tablet so he could do some work, and Jemma knows it's because he's worried about keeping his brain active. She strongly urged against it, but he was so insistent she didn't want him to pull into himself even more, so she relented, only under the condition that he takes a break every twenty minutes or so.

Daisy had left a little bit ago after spending some much needed down time with him, now that their relationship has been mended. Coulson is going to come and visit after he does rounds checking on how everyone is doing with the plan and dealing with Talbot who is still locked up.

Simmons places the covered plate in the fridge and sits on one of the bar stools stationed at the long section of counters.

She had swiped a tablet for herself, having her own personal motives. She _needed_ to see what went on in that storage room, and as it so happens, pretty much every room in the base is required to have cameras installed for security purposes. She logs into the network with her SHIELD ID, mentally preparing for what she might see. Scrolling through the list of security streams, she come across the feed labeled 'F12 P-ST'.

"Twelfth floor primary storage." She translates aloud. "There you are."

She double taps it, and the live footage reveals one of the lower-level agents mopping up the red streaks on the stone floor. Coulson had assigned to clean the room from the attack, no doubt using his status as director to get out of revealing any details. She opens the command prompt for the cameras and types in the commands for the right date and time to jump the feed to. The stream of the agents clean cuts quickly and buffers a second before it loads the video from the other day. There are only two cameras to cover the entirety of the room so there are a few areas that aren't covered.

She can she Fitz though. He's sitting at a desk along one of the more bare walls. The camera she's watching from is in the upper corner of the same wall, so she has a perfect side view of his place at the desk. This was when he was _supposed_ to be taking a nap.

_He's hunched over what looks like a stack of blueprints, taking a sip of his black coffee every minute or two. It's obvious he's fight how tired he really is. He's resting his head on his hand, his other still wrapped around his nondescript paper coffee cup._

She can even see the steam coming from the dark liquid since Daisy had replaced the old camera tech with HD versions.

_His chin slips from his hand and he jerks up splashing coffee all over the papers and his hand._

She sucks air through her teeth. That had to burn, although she knows that what's coming is far worse. A pit of dread grows in her stomach in anticipation of the moment the encounter starts.

_He shakes his hand to dislodge the offending liquid. He says something under his breath that the camera doesn't pick up, but she can tell by his exasperation that he probably said a few choice words. He tries to wipe what he can off of the papers before throwing them back on the desk with frustration. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. The looming figure of Alistair wearing one of his stupid expensive suits comes skulking into the frame antagonistically._

_"You're a mess."_

_Fitz flinches violently and spins around, hopping out of his chair and standing abruptly._

_"You're not real... You're just a hallucination. A delusion caused by exhaustion, and head injury..." Fitz says, seeming more to himself than Alistair._

_"Is that what you've been telling yourself? You always did have an overactive imagination."_

_"You died— No— you left." Fitz corrects._

_"Now, why would I do that? If I would've left you with that pathetic excuse for a mother, you would be just as soft as her. She was a coward who couldn't discipline her own son properly. I had to teach her almost as much as I did you, a child."_

Jemma knows what Alistair's definition of teaching was. She's gathered bits about his abusive behavior through small things Fitz has let slip, not to mention a few unexplained scars that he's had since she met him.

_"What you did was cruel."_

_"Oh, so you've grown soft now too? I thought I taught you how to be strong! I thought you understood that!"_

_Fitz flinches again at the shout, his whole body shaking with terror._

_"You taught me to be a murderer." Fitz states._

_"I didn't make you kill anyone. You were second in command at Hydra, not me." He responds, becoming calm again. "Everything else we did was for the good of the people. The Inhumans needed to be studied so we could learn how to apprehend them if they decided to come against us."_

_"They were people too. It's— it's not right..."_

_Alistair takes a step forward and Fitz backs away in tandem._

_"Am I going to have to teach you how to be a man again?"_

God this is so messed up...

_"This isn't real..." He whispers so softly the cameras don't pick it up, but she can read his lips._

_"Oh... I'm very real, boy." Alistair sneers. The tones of his voice showing the true essence of every twisted part of him._

_"This... this has to be a dream... This isn't real..." He stammers shakily, "I don't— Please..." He begs heartbreakingly. Alistair steps forward again causing Fitz' arms to automatically shoot up in order to block any oncoming attacks. The fact that it was his automatic response cuts deep._

_"Look at you... quivering like a child." The older man sneers. "Do you know how much work I did to get you a good life?!" He surges forward grabbing Fitz' thin shoulders with a bone-crushing grip. Jemma wishes she could rip this man apart._

_"Without me, you would be nothing! An idiot and a coward!" He punctuates each hurtful word with a violent shake to Fitz' frame. He then proceeds to smash Fitz' head into the concrete wall._

The same spot she had noticed upon first entering that room. Already having a concussion from Ruby, that makes number two. Jemma puts a hand over her mouth and tries to keep her emotions in control. He's okay now. Although 'okay' is a strong word.

_"There's no hope for you. I should just end it before you do anything else you'll regret." Alistair punches his son full-force before grabbing the front of his shirt and shoves Fitz to the ground making him slide a little bit on the smooth floor until he's closer to the center of the room._

_Fitz tries to drag himself up, but Alistair stomps over and a delivers a hard kick to his stomach, hitting the area near his wound. Two more kicks to his torso makes him curl in on himself. In her mind she pleads for Alistair to stop, even though she knows he won't. She just prays Daisy arrives soon. Fitz' monster of a father stares down at him with disgust before pulling his leg back for another kick. His hard shoe slams into his head making it snap to the side with a spattering of blood on the floor._

Number three. That bastard.

_Fitz drags himself across the floor and hacks up blood. Alistair's shadow looms overhead, causing Fitz to cower once again._

_"I should've known that you would defect. You're no better than the rest of these SHIELD scum. You disgust me." Alistair veers out, stepping over Fitz' body to get to the side he's facing. Fitz uncurls a little and his hand moves slightly away from his body. Alistair takes advantage of this. Fitz lets out a blood-curdling scream as Alistair viciously steps on his hand, breaking the bones underneath, she knows since she had to put those same fingers back in place._

_That monster goes down and straddles Fitz' hips, pinning him down, he raises his right arm and strikes her husband again. Fitz' head whips to the side with a grunt and a splatter of blood. He wraps both of his hands on his son's throat and slams his head on the hard cement. Number 4. Fitz struggles, choking and sputtering, desperately to pry his fathers' hands off, but at this point she knows he's too weak to fight back. His face starts to turn blue, eyes rolling back as the lids flutter, and his arms go limp before falling to the floor._

Jemma has tears welling in her eyes uncontrollably.

_Daisy runs, better late than never, and releases a strong sonic blast at Alistair sending him disintegrating against the wall. As soon as his father is off of him he scrambles around some shelves and huddles in the corner shivering, holding his crushed hand against his chest. Daisy doesn't notice this though, she just stares at the wall where Alistair disappeared in shock._

_Turn around!_ She shouts in her mind at the on screen Daisy. As if the virtual version of her friend could hear her, coincidentally, Daisy chose that time remember Fitz and turn around. She switches camera feeds to get a better view.

_"Fitz?" She calls out, and follows the red streaks that he left on the floor back to the corner._

Jemma watches as Daisy freezes at the sight of him.

_"Hey... You're okay..." She extends her hand to lightly touch his shoulder. He tenses and tries to curl up tighter— which doesn't seem possible at the moment._

_"I'm s-sorry, Father. I'll be good now I prom-promise—" He whimpers heartbreakingly. Daisy cringes and is silent for a little bit, seemingly trying to figure out the best approach._

_"Fitz..." Her voice cracks slightly with emotion. "Fitz, it's me..."_

_"I'm sorry—" He stutters._

_"Hey, hey, it's okay..."_

_Fitz slowly lifts his head to look at her._

_She scoots closer to him and pulls him into her embrace. He stiffens for a moment before deflating and he wraps his arms around her tightly, hiding his head in her shoulder with silent sobs wracking his frame._

_"Shh, it's okay... I forgive you."_

Jemma closes the feed since she knows she was summoned not too long after. She's shocked and touched at the same time. She knew it would take something extreme to get her to forgive him, but she never expected this. She's glad Daisy finally came around, but saddened that it took _this_ for it to happen. Swirls of different conflicting emotions threaten to overwhelm her. How is she going to help Fitz through this? The whole situation was so damaging, physically and mentally.

She decides to just take it one step at a time. For now, she'll just stay by his side and help him with anything he needs. She takes several moments to compose herself, not wanting to worry Fitz because he can always tell if she's been crying. She splashes her face with cold water at the stainless steel kitchen sink to abate the redness around her eyes and nose. A roll of paper towels is stationed next to the sink, so she tears one of to dry her face. The cold water felt wonder and she already feels a little better. She fixes any stray hairs that might be sticking out and heads back to the med bay. It's been a while since she and Fitz have had some alone time, so she's going to enjoy it while it lasts.

oOo

She makes the turn through the doorway to find him deeply immersed in whatever he's working on on the tablet. It's feels odd seeing him again after watching the video, almost like he's not real. She shoves the feelings away. Getting out a new package of gauze with the intent of replacing his old bandages, she peeks over his shoulder. It seems he's working on different algorithms for the Gravitonium and detailed information on...

"Project Deathlok? Why are you looking at that?" She questions curiously. He turns his head quickly, apparently not having noticed her before, and grimaces at the sharp movement.

"Oh, uh... _apparently_ during that stretch of time Daisy was gone, she was tracking down the last bits of the Centipede serum. She thinks it might help heal Coulson if it's mixed with Jiaying's DNA." He goes right back to tapping away on the tablet like this is the most common knowledge in the world.

Jemma stares at him, shocked. She can't believe she hadn't thought about that before, it's brilliant! Then she realizes why he was so fixed on getting that tablet. He wants to try and fix his 'mistake'. He's going to do everything in his power to save Coulson, think it's his fault the man is dying in the first place.

_Oh, Fitz..._

She decides not to bring it up, knowing nothing _she_ says will convince him otherwise. Maybe Coulson can when he visits. She gestures to his body with the bandages, signaling to him that she's going to replace them. With him, she doesn't always need words because he can basically read her mind. He places the tablet down on the side table and sits up with a groan before removing his shirt with Jemma's assistance. She winces at the sight of the bruises. They've turned to dark blacks and purples as the raised blood under the skin of each mark has lost all oxygen. The white gauze is tainted with a small section of dark red over his newest cut from the surgery.

She tends to the smaller injuries first, re-bandaging the incision on his hand under the brace, checking the bumps on his head, then goes to remove the gauze.

He lifts his elbows up as she unwraps the long bandage from around his ribs. Each section unfurled reveals more of the macabre rainbow on his torso. His old wound looks slightly better― emphasis on slightly― and the new incision is ripped a little at the top, most likely from his outburst earlier. She doesn't think she needs to re-stitch it; it will most likely close back up on its own if he takes it easy.

She prods around his ribs gently to make sure they're healing properly, although she could probably tell just by looking at them since they're so visible. It's very unsettling seeing all of it again after know the exact thing his father did to create each mark. Jemma doesn't understand how he can act so normal after something like that. She already struggling and she only watched it. Then again, he's gotten extremely good at hiding how he really feels.

The different scars she comes across also catch her attention. She mentally catalogs of the ones she comes across that she doesn't recognize.

There are some that she did already know about, such as the tiny ones that pepper his left side from the shrapnel of the bomb that killed Malick. Some small jagged ones on his back from being thrown through the glass door by AIDA. There are a few other faded ones on his back that he's had since before she met him, but doesn't talk about. She realizes how little she does know, compared to what she doesn't. There are a bunch of scars that she definitely doesn't remember being there. Her fingers gently brush across a particularly nasty one on his shoulder. Fitz is a little slow to her actions, but notices her change in demeanor. He's too tired to make up an excuse.

"That was from an A'askavariian mercenary. Nasty creatures they are. They've got needles for teeth."

She looks up at him, shocked and more than a little confused. _When did he encounter something like that?_

Once again he practically reads her mind.

"Oh— after I woke up from stasis, the only way I would be able to get into Kasius' auction was if I had an impressive reputation and deep pockets. Enoch brought me to a few different places throughout parts of the galaxy to take down other criminals and mercenaries and such, so I could work my way up the food chain." He explains. Jemma is aghast. Why didn't he tell her about this? This is a pretty huge development. And how was he able to actually stand off against such fearsome people, let alone win?

"What? I know you held up well against Kasius, but... I mean, when did you learn to—"

"Fight that well? That might be the only good thing that came out of the Framework." He admits, and huffs a small mirthless laugh.

Jemma frowns. How much training had he received in the Framework? He could handle himself before, but now, thinking of him as being near the same level as Agent May or Daisy, is slightly disorienting. Seeing all these scars are proof of his growth. But they're also proof of how _reckless he was!_ She lightly whacks him on the arm and he looks at her with confusion, but still obviously physically unfazed by her soft attack.

"I understand that you did all that to get to us, but— _You could've gotten yourself killed!_ " She berates. "I know you're all skilled and 'James Bond' and such, but that doesn't mean it's okay for you to be so reckless! This time I _do_ understand, but one of these times you're going to go off and fight, and you won't be able to win! I couldn't stand it if you—" She cuts off, refusing to say it. "Just, _please_ stop trying to sacrifice yourself to make up for whatever you still feel guilty about."

Now it's his turn to frown. She can see his internal struggle with not blaming himself. It's almost like he feels that if he doesn't, everyone else will.

"Fitz, we've talked about this. I get that it will take some time, but just... think about it. Alright?" She pleads.

He looks up at her through his lashes and sighs in resignation before nodding hesitantly.

"Alright." He concedes.

"Good." She responds and grabs the fresh bandages. She gestures for him to raise his arms again. He does, but winces sharply as it pulls on his injuries. Just as she starts unraveling the soft roll, Coulson knocks lightly on the door frame and steps into the room making Fitz jump slightly. As soon as he registers whose presence it is, he straightens. Jemma sighs at his constant need to be perfect and please everyone. She might not have gotten through to him on some things, but Coulson might.

oOo

Coulson has been analyzing the situation with Fitz nonstop since he first tried to shoot himself earlier that week. It's only gotten stronger since Daisy had told him what happened in the storage room.

Even as he directs other agents as to their role in the upcoming mission, he's thinking about the dead look in Fitz' eyes as he slid his finger over the trigger. As he checks on Talbot's condition, he imagines how scared the poor kid was when confronted by his abuser. He can't eat without thinking about how many meals Fitz had skipped while trying so desperately to solve their ever-growing list of problems. He can't stop the image of Fitz in that hospital bed from forming in his mind. Scarred and bruised and tired, looking pale in the fluorescent lights, and so small in that hospital bed. Coulson couldn't imagine a father doing this to his own child.

Fitz was the closest thing he ever had to a son, and _damn_ if he didn't love that kid. He's the brightest, kindest, bravest young man he's ever met, and to see him so broken down is heartbreaking.

He passes through the dismal halls and finds Fitz' room. He's sitting on the edge of the bed with Jemma by his side wrapping his bruised ribs. His hands are balled tightly in fists and his expression is pinched. Coulson winces in sympathy for him as well as for the sight of his ribs poking out even further as the skin is stretched. God, the kid had gotten even scrawnier than he already was. Although he really can't be considered a kid anymore. He looks too worn down and his eyes hold more wisdom, even if what it's learned isn't very positive. He learned how cruel and twisted the world could be. No, he stopped being a kid in that sense long ago.

_How did I let it get this bad?_

It takes more than a couple things to happen for someone to become suicidal.

He knocks on the door-frame to announce his presence before stepping in the room. Fitz flinches and looks up at him before stiffening. He looks off guard and nervous.

"Ah- Sir." He addresses awkwardly, avoiding eye contact. Jemma quickly finishes wrapping his torso before getting up to throw away the old ones. He tries to quickly grab his shirt and put it back on, but his uninjured fingers are fumbling and he can barely lift his arms without causing too much pain in his ribs. Coulson comes over and places a hand on Fitz unsteady ones to calm his efforts. Fitz glances up but quickly looks away. Coulson can see the frustrated desperation at not being able to make himself more presentable.

Coulson gives him a stern look and the younger man deflates with a heavy breath. Coulson sees how much this means to him, so he grabs the shirt, stretching the sleeves open so Fitz can easily slip his arms through, and pulls the collar of the t-shirt over his head. Fitz looks only slightly embarrassed, which is close enough to a win in Coulson's book. To him, Fitz seems extremely jittery and uncomfortable. He's sitting cross-legged and has his injured arm cradled across his ribs. His right hand absently comes up to scratch at his thick stubble nervously.

Fitz scooches closer to the headboard to give Coulson more space to sit, knowing the older man is going to want to talk to him. He knows that the director will probably scold him for attacking Daisy. He's been anticipating it since he hasn't really talked to Coulson at all since the incident occurred. Now he's attacked Daisy a _second_ time. He needs to make sure Coulson knows he's sorry before the reprimanding begins.

"Listen—" Coulson starts but is immediately stopped by the younger agent.

"I'm sorry, Sir. I know what I did was wrong— I see that. I'll never attack Daisy again. I promise." His voice cracks on the last word. He still refuses to look Coulson in the eye. An automatic response of submission. Coulson's brow furrows, disconcerted. It's not like he was going to yell at him or reprimand him. He knows how shaken Fitz is about everything.

"I know that, and I know how sorry you are. You don't have to apologize anymore."

" _I don't have to..._ Jemma talked to you didn't she? Did she tell you to go easy on me because I'm _'at risk'_ or some load of rubbish like that? Well you don't have to walk on eggshells around me. I can take it. I'm not going to explode again."

_Well, this is not going as well as I'd hoped..._

"I know you aren't, that's not what I'm saying. And no, Jemma hasn't told me to do anything. Daisy did give me a very quick explanation of what happened, but I wanted it hear it from you."

No one has asked to directly tell them what happened from his perspective. Fight or flight kicks in and he's _really_ feeling the urge to flee. Why can't everyone just forget everything and go back to their lives?

"Nothing else important happened. Daisy probably gave you the whole story."

"You don't even know how much she said..."

"I know she tends to talk a lot. Besides, it's not like dwelling on the past will help anyone." He deflects, staring down at the blanket covering his legs and fiddling with the edge of the fabric.

"You can't bottle up everything. It'll just make things worse. I think you need to talk about it..."

"There's nothing to discuss."

"Nothing to discuss? You were just beaten half to death by a manifestation of your own father!" He says a little too firmly, trying to get Fitz to stop belittling his problems but only ends up making him flinch. Coulson's heart sinks with guilt.

Fight or flight switches gears.

"You think I don't know that?! You think I wasn't reliving every horrible moment of my childhood all over again?! That I don't hear his voice telling me how worthless I am every time it's quiet? Well you don't have to bother with me anymore, I can deal with it. It's not the first time."

He can't talk about it. He won't. He can't let them know how weak he was, they'll just pity him. The whole thing just needs to blow over so they can get back to the mission.

"Fitz... you forget, I know you. I've known you for over five years and I know how you think. I know you're feeling that you can't show any weakness because everyone else seems so strong, but we're not. We all have our insecurities. The only way for you to work through this is with your family."

Fitz deflates, hanging his head with the exhaustion of keeping up his walls. Coulson can tell he's starting to break some of them down and the prospect fills him with relief. He decides to use one final move that he's been wanting to say for a while.

"You're the closest thing I've ever had to a son, and after everything you've been through… I'm proud of you."

That makes Fitz finally look up at him. The sheer amount of hopeful desperation warms and breaks his heart at the same time. It's obvious by his expression that no one has ever told him that before, and it's saddening. His face quickly stones over again as he tries to stop himself from accepting Coulson's praise.

"Sir… don't you realize— I'm the reason you're going to… You wouldn't've had to make that deal with Ghost Rider if I hadn't told AIDA to read the Darkhold. You told me it was too risky but I didn't listen." How did he not see that Fitz might blame himself for this? That man has an unparalleled ability to somehow blame himself for everything. "It should be me. Not you."

"Don't. Don't you dare talk like that. It was _my_ decision, and I did it to _save you_. And AIDA might not have even heard you. We were stuck between dimensions, it could've been a coincidence." He pauses for a moment to gauge Fitz' expression. He doesn't seem to be budging. "You know, it's okay to talk about it. None of us will think any less of you."

Fitz cringes and looks back down, trying to hide his face as his emotions get the better of him.

"Hey, don't do that. Don't shut us out. You don't have to talk about it right now if you don't want to, and it doesn't even have to be me, but you have to talk to someone eventually and get some help."

Fitz continues to stare down at his lap and pick at the edge of the blanket. The conflicting emotions playing tennis in his head are almost audible enough from Coulson to hear them. Fitz struggles at forcing himself to open up and not deflect everything. To Coulson's surprise the young man actually starts to speak.

"I wasn't supposed to be in that storage room." He whispers darkly. "I told Jemma that I was going to get some rest, just to get her to stop worrying. I lied to her, and not just about that. I lied to her about taking my medication too. I told her that I wasn't going to keep anymore secrets, and I lied straight to her face." He huffs a sardonic laugh. "Look where that got me. I got what I deserved for breaking my promise."

Simmons had warned him about the self deprecation. She said that he would most likely try to downgrade his worth to Coulson, or try to make him angry so he would lash out and give Fitz the punishment he thinks he deserves. Coulson stands his ground.

" _No._ You don't deserve this. No one does."

"I deserve worse." Coulson closes his eyes and sighs. This was going nowhere fast, so he decides to switch tactics.

"Why weren't you taking your medication?" Fitz seems a little startled by the unexpected question. It seems he wasn't originally planning on elaborating that one. He turns his head and looks to the side, raking his teeth across his bottom lip.

"I needed to get back to the mission, and I couldn't do that if I was too fuzzy to think properly." He looks back down. The half-assed excuse doesn't fool Coulson for a second.

"That may be part of it, but I think there's more to it than that." He says with a knowing tone and ducks his head a little to try and see Fitz' face better. "...Is it because you didn't think you deserved that either?"

Fitz keeps his head down, and for a moment Coulson thinks he's not going to answer, but then Fitz gives a slow, heavyhearted nod. Coulson tilts his head in sympathy at the admission.

"It's okay to talk about your feelings. Contrary to popular belief, it doesn't make you weak. It makes you stronger." He adds with a sad smile. Fitz looks up slowly and warily, gauging Coulson's expression before making the move to say anything.

"It..." He throat contracts with emotion, cutting him off. He looks up, cringing. "It all just... _hurts_." He finally blurts out and his breath hitches. He hangs his head. Coulson shoots forward and roughly wraps his arms around Fitz, squeezing him in a firm embrace of raw emotion. Fitz reciprocates immediately as he tries and fails not to burst into tears for what feels like the millionth time in the past week.

"I know." Coulson consoles softly, his bionic hand rubbing Fitz' back and his other stroking the back of his head, careful to avoid the wounds that reside there. "I know." He repeats even quieter, as the younger man sobs violently into his chest. His cries are surprisingly silent other than the occasional sniff and sharp hitches in his breath. "It's okay. I'm here."

Coulson realizes how much Fitz has been neglected by everyone— himself included. In the craziness of everything no one noticed all of these warning signs and if they did, they didn't do anything about it. Fitz pulls away, wincing, and wipes his eyes. He's cried more in the past few days than he's probably done in his entire adult life up to this point.

Concussions suck, and so do the bloody drugs. That's another reason he didn't want to take them. They make it harder for him to keep his walls up, and Jemma made sure to give him a _thorough_ dose this time. Everything was already a little hard to comprehend because of his head. He slowly leans back against the headboard, too tired to keep his aching body upright. He was already exhausted before his breakdown and now it's increased tenfold, but he finds he doesn't actually mind this time. He feels so relieved after learning that Coulson isn't just as disappointed in him as his father was, that the exhaustion is almost calming.

Maybe talking to Coulson was the final crack in his walls that sent it crumbling to the ground.

"The feeling of worthlessness, and the guilt... It's always there. The pressure from it is suffocating. I just wanted a release. Maybe that's the real reason I tried to end it. I told myself it was to protect Jemma from the other side of me, but maybe that's not true. Maybe I was just being weak." Fitz opens up, going to lean his head back but is reminded of the multiple painful bumps and turns it to the side instead.

"Wanting peace isn't weak. The human mind can only handle so much, and yours has passed that point time and time again. I'm astounded that you're still standing. I wouldn't be." Coulson states honestly. "And I meant what I said before: I _am_ proud of you."

Fitz straightens his head to look at him again. It's detrimental that Fitz knows he's is being 100% honest, because his state of mind right now is like a skittish horse. One wrong move and he might take off for good.

His shoulders droop and he gives a small tired smile in acknowledgement.

"You don't know how much that means to me."

"I have _some_ idea." Coulson replies warmly, moving to sit next to Fitz at the head of the bed before wrapping an arm around his shoulders in a side hug and squeezing lightly. Fitz leans his head on Coulson's shoulder tiredly and Coulson follows the suit, resting his head on Fitz'.

Something tells him everything will be alright.

_**To be continued...** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I actually cried a little writing his breakdown this time. Which is weird because I don't think I've ever cried on something I wrote before, and I rarely ever cry reading fanfics. Also sorry I've kind of made him cry a lot in this story but it just kind of flowed that way. I did kind of justify it in this chapter a little bit.
> 
> I was also thinking I could share a few of the songs I listen to that kind of inspired this story and help me get into the darker mood for writing this. Would you guys be into that or no?
> 
> Next chapter will probably be the last (if I can milk one more). Fitz and Mack will finally have a face to face, well... while Fitz is conscious this time anyway.


	8. Part VIII

* * *

  _"You learned to run from what you feel, and that's why you have nightmares. To deny is to invite madness. To accept is to control."  
― Megan Chance_

* * *

**Part VIII**  
{Finale}

_"...so we operated to repair the internal bleeding, and now he's in recovery." Mack finishes._

_Yo-Yo stares at Mack in silence for a moment. That was quite a lot to take in._

_"Wow." Was the first thing she manages to say. "His father was like that in real life?"_

_Mack nods heavily._

_"Damn. And all of this happened just in the past few days?"_

_"Yeah. I did not expect all that to go down."_

_"Actually... I'm not that surprised. Well, I am about thing with his dad, but I'm not surprised he did all that."_

_"What's that supposed to mean?" Mack urges, taken aback._

_"You really haven't realized how you all have been treating him? How depressed he's been_ _— for months? For secret agents, you guys aren't very good at reading people."_

_Mack is surprised at Yo-Yo's admission. He didn't realize how much she had noticed from Fitz. He figured she was just as busy as the rest of them― too busy to notice. Perhaps it's because she was the only one who could look past what he had done._

_"Why didn't you say anything?"_

_"When was I supposed to? Before or after you locked him up in that cell? He barely had a bed to sleep on!_ _Por_ _el amor de Dios_ _."_

She was right— Mack realizes as he now travels down to the med bay. At that time, no one would've even listened to her even if she had tried talking to them. Her last words made him reflect on the conditions she had mentioned. Again she was right. He had time to see what it was like when they had lock him in there before leaving on the trip to the Hydra base.

Fitz only had a thin bedding on top of concrete, barely long enough for his body. The cot only possessed a small pillow and a thin threadbare blanket the first week before Jemma had noticed how cold it was and found some spares he could use, although it's most likely he wasn't sleeping anyways. For a while it was completely empty― save for the metal interrogation-like table― before he had gotten some books. The corners of the room coated with dirt and spider webs, and the thick scent of must and mold permeated the air to a degree that made it hard to breathe after a while, having not been properly taken care of since the Lighthouse was quite an old facility.

The cruel undertones are hard to ignore, well... not that hard apparently. One thing _did_ happen that Mack doesn't like to think about. Something he could've prevented.

_Mack had been keeping a close eye on Fitz' camera feed at all times. Deep down he knew nothing would probably happen again, but he was too paranoid. Mack was still recovering from his bullet wound and he was exhausted, both of which only fueled his anger towards Fitz. For the most part he was right, nothing really happened besides Fitz sitting on his bed, staring at the wall. It was his first night being there and he had been still almost the entire time. Key word: Had._

_He lifted his head from where it was back against the wall and his eyes darted around the room. He seemed to get increasingly more jittery as the minutes ticked by. He brought his knees to his chest and ran his hands through his hair compulsively. The prisoner's chest was heaving in air, his head leaning back on the wall again, seemingly from some sort of distress. He reaches out with his hand slamming it desperately on of the walls that sandwich his mattress, as if trying to push it away. His face was stricken with terror as he seemed to feel the walls were closing in._

_It was then that Mack realized Fitz was claustrophobic. Ever since he almost drowned he's had an aversion to small spaces. It must have been enhanced by being cramped up in his prison cell at the military facility, that room only associated with trauma and bad memories._

_Mack almost thought about going down there and helping him, but another part of him tells him it could be a trick. He felt so much betrayal after Fitz snapped, he doesn't want to take any more chances. So he just watched._

_Watched as Fitz once again struggled to breathe, feeling like he was drowning all over again. The air sucked out of the room and the walls crashing down on him. He just rocks back and forth, clawing at his hair, the bed, his chest, waiting for the terror to pass. This is what he would do when it would happen before in prison. A war raged on in Mack's head of what he should do as he just stared at the shattering human on the screen in front of him._

_Nothing's changed._

_He hurt people._

_He deserves this._

_Mack wishes he had realized earlier that Fitz **didn't**._

A scream is the first sound Mack hears from Fitz since his terrified ramblings on the gurney before his surgery, and it breaks him from his thoughts.

Everyone was sleeping, save for the few agents here and there on night duties. Mack wanted to finally check on Fitz after the lengthy conversation he had with Yo-Yo. By the time he was finished, he realized it was just at the point of being too late and too early at the same time, but he still thought he would at least check if Fitz was awake.

He traverses the eerily quiet corridor almost about to remark to himself how creepy the silence is, before an even more alarming noise breaks through silence like a lance. A desperate cry in the distance, coming from Fitz' room. Mack freezes in his tracks for a moment to make sure he's not hearing things

Another strangled shout.

He takes off towards the noise, ready for action, but stops at the doorway. All the lights in his room are off, making it almost pitch black, except for the florescent lights from the hallway now illuminating it partially. For a moment he wonders why all the are off in the first place. Through the meager lighting he squints to see Fitz writhing in bed.

His head tosses back and forth and his good hand grips the blanket in a white-knuckled fist. His feet squirm a little, trapped and tangled under the layers of fabric. His expression is pained, and his entire body is drenched in sweat. Mack quickly runs over to his bedside. He's not going to ignore Fitz' problems this time, or any time after.

He shakes the engineer's shoulders in hopes of stirring him from whatever hellish dream he's stuck in. A choked noise escapes Fitz' throat before his eyes snap open and he scrambles off the bed, tumbling to the floor, legs still tangled in the confines of the blanket. His eyes are wide, blinded by fear.

He leans over to the side and retches up the small amount of food that was residing in his stomach. Under his fear and misery is a sense of defeat that he wasn't even able to keep the small bit of sandwich down.

For some obvious reasons, he still hasn't registered Mack's presence. The mechanic isn't quite sure how to proceed without startling the younger man. He figures no matter what he does, Fitz will probably be taken off guard so he just goes for it.

He clears his throat in an attempt to make it seem more natural, but as he feared, as soon as he makes noise Fitz jumps and presses against the wall unconsciously.

_Hard footsteps. Broad shoulders. Large Hands._

His instincts tell him that only pain will come from this combination. He closes his eyes, shaking his head in protest.

"Please— not again…" He brings his arms up to cover his face in defense. The stress at the prospect of being in this position turns his stomach again, sending him leaning over the trash bin once more. With barely anything in his stomach to begin with, he only heaves up stomach acid. The large figure looms over him again. He wants to cower but it finally clicks in his muddled brain that these addends are those of his once best friend. Mack rubs his large hands against Fitz' back comfortingly, harder with muscle than he remembers but still lacking in all other areas. And at this rate he'll never keep anything down.

"Hey Turbo― calm down… It's just me."

_'Turbo'…_ The name is a whisper of something familiar and safe. His face softens with relief but then instantly re-hardens with a mask of indifference.

"Mack… I uh… sorry." He stumbles, swiftly standing and picking up the jumbled blanket, his face flushed with equal parts exertion and embarrassment. He wipes his brow with the back of his hand. "Were you sleeping near here? Did I uh— did I wake you? I didn't mean to wake you— I'm sorry."

"Whoa, whoa, slow down— you didn't wake me up, I was already coming to see you."

"You— what?" He stops, dismayed.

_Did he actually think that I wouldn't want to see him?_

In his shock Fitz slumps back against the wall, dazed and uncoordinated.

Somethings not completely right here.

His eyes aren't looking at Mack directly. Even in the darkness, someone with average sight should be able to see at this level of lighting. He seems like he can barely hold himself up, even leaning back against the wall. He overall just looks… off.

He's clutching the blanket tightly against his body with a white-knuckled fist.

"Fitz?" Mack tries. Fitz looks up at him— well, more so in his general direction.

"Huh?" He responds loosely. His body is trembling. Unfortunately, Mack now knows from experience that whenever Fitz is shaking, something is very wrong. Mack takes a few steps back and gropes the wall for the light switch. The bright lights above the bed switch on illuminating the room within milliseconds. Fitz scrunches his eyes at the brightness stabbing at his eyes, curling inward.

Mack almost wishes he wouldn't have turned the light on. Fitz' t-shirt and bedding is riddled with red and copper streaks and is soaked down the chest and back with sweat. The bright white of the t-shirt no doubt making it look worse than it is, like, he had a fight with a blender, bad. The thing is, he doesn't look seriously injured and no one spot seems to be bleeding too badly, more like a bunch of light messy paint strokes.

Mack edges closer cautiously wondering if the cause of the blood is because Fitz opened up his stitches. The younger man is pretty out of it but still panicked. He sinks down to the floor as Mack gets closer leaving little marks of red on the wall in his wake. Mack gets close enough to make out a little bit more detail. He moves to grab the hem of Fitz' shirt with the intention of assess just how bad the damage is, but Fitz grabs his wrist firmly and stares at him with an indecipherable mix of emotions. Mack stares back earnestly— his dark chocolate brown to Fitz' deep ocean blue— trying to convey his own emotions and intentions through the connection.

Fitz releases his wrist and submits to his ministrations, arms dropping heavily at his sides. Mack nods in confirmation, silently thanking him for not resisting. Hesitantly, he lifts up the edge of Fitz' shirt, scared that what he finds might be just as bad as, or worse than last time. He's not sure what side of the scale this falls at.

There are several groupings of scratches all over his torso and arms. Upon further inspection, it's not as macabre as his original assumptions, but close. Judging by Fitz blood-caked nails, he was scratching at himself in his sleep. Mack is the tiniest bit relieved that he wasn't harming himself intentionally, but not enough to fully assuage his concern.

"Hey kid… what happened?" He asks the smaller man, adopting a softer tone. "Why'd you scratch yourself up?"

"I…" He stops and swallows, staring at the thin gashes on his arms. "He wouldn't stop…"

"Who?"

"Leopold. The Doctor. Me." He mutters darkly. Mack's face drops with realization. "He was in control, but I knew… I knew this time I wouldn't be able to stop and I… I actually wanted it to happen for a moment. I was so tired of fighting, I thought for a split second that it might be better if I just gave up and had him take control." He says, voice filled with a disgust reserved only for himself. "My dad was there. He wanted it to happen too. If it didn't, he said he would…" He shakes his head. "It ached and burned and my skin was crawling, I— I've never felt anything like it. How could it just be a dream?"

Mack feels sorry for the man. He can't even have solace in his dreams.

Goosebumps travel across Fitz' arms and the hairs stand on end. He stares at his red tipped fingers. The impulse for them to be clean becomes immeasurable. He has really come to hate the color red. He tries to mask his panic with indifference and calmly wipe his fingers on his shirt but the blood is partially dried and caked under the nails, making it near impossible to clean without water. He scrubs his fingertips harder on the boxer fabric covering the tops of his thighs attempting to rid himself of the evidence his nightmare produced.

Mack was going to comment about the dream, but figured it would be best to steer away from the subject since he can see that Fitz is already falling into a panic. He grabs Fitz' wrists firmly— being careful of the one still encased in the brace— and attempts to calm the younger man.

"Hey hey, you're okay." Fitz' eyes are watery but even in his weakened state he refuses to cry again. "Why don't we get you cleaned up?" Mack asks with a gentle voice once only reserved for when Hope was hurt or sick. Fitz looks hesitant at first. "We're just gonna go wash up. You good with that?" Fitz looks down, contemplating something internally, but then he nods shakily. "Great. Do you think you can stand up?" Another nod. "Alright, up we go—"

He puts Fitz' arm across his shoulders and stands, slowly hoisting up the engineer with him. Once Fitz stabilizes himself substantially enough, Mack releases and lightly touches his arm to guide him into the bathroom. Fitz will always be like a brother to him, but right now he needs to be cared for by the touch of a parent. He urges Fitz to sit on the edge of the bathtub. One good thing about the facilities here being older is that the infirmary bathrooms have actual bathtubs instead of roll-in showers.

Fitz keeps rubbing one hand with the other despite the brace. Something he's done since his original brain injury Mack notes. As Mack heats up some water in the sink, he notices how hesitant and nervous Fitz seems. It dawns on him that he most likely has never experienced care from another male figure that hasn't tried to harm him or tell him that being cared for is weakness.

That's pretty screwed up.

Fitz must have picked up on his anger, misunderstanding it for being directed at him because he starts to apologize. "Sorry." He hangs his head, wrapping his arms around himself and tucking his hands under his arms as if he was cold, but it seems to be more of a defense mechanism.

"Don't apologize. I'm not mad at _you_." He corrects. Fitz just looks down and Mack can't tell if the kid even believes him or not.

He's still shaking. Mack goes back over to where Fitz is stationed and lightly puts a hand on his shoulder, to which he flinches. Mack isn't surprised. He once again guides Fitz over to the sink so he can wash his hands. Fitz looks down at his left hand with confusion and Mack realizes he can't wash with the brace on. He mentally face-palms for not thinking about that sooner.

He comes over slowly as to not startle Fitz and undoes the Velcro straps on the brace for him. He winces a little as Mack slides it off. Mack can't help but stare at the dark bruise staining his hand. He had already dealt with re-gaining mobility in his hands before, forcing him to do it again was just cruel. Fitz sends his shaky hands over to the faucet letting the slightly warm water sluice down his fingers and knuckles. He barely moves his left hand— for good reason— but still quickly scrubs to get the dark crust out from under his nails, refusing to look at himself in the mirror.

Mack hands him a towel afterwards.

"Alright, off with the shirt." Fitz looks at him accusingly for second. "Don't look at me like that. I need to see how bad the scratches are, plus, do you really want Simmons to see you all smeared up like that?" He looks up at the mention of Jemma. Mack doesn't get why the kid is so hesitant to take off his shirt. It's not like he hasn't seen it before when he helped patch him up before.

"Okay." He responds quietly and sits back on the bathtub, glancing down at his shirt. It _did_ look pretty bad. He knew he shouldn't have worn white. If he was wearing a darker shirt, Mack probably wouldn't have noticed as quickly. Now Mack is stuck helping him clean up this ridiculous mess like he's a helpless child. Mack is probably repulsed by him.

There's a bunch of little dots and streaks of blood that have either soaked through from underneath, or been smudged from his hands or arms. He truly does look horrible. He can only imagine the look on Jemma's face if she saw him this way. His ribs are still killing him but he doesn't want to have to ask Mack for help. He tucks in his elbow and tries to pull off the sleeve with the opposite hand, but his ribs protest the movement of stretching his arm over his body. He pushes through anyways and grasps the hem of the sleeve sliding it down his arm, past his injured hand until it releases with a jerk, making him gasp.

He's proud of the small accomplishment. From there he's able to pull off the collar and the other sleeve with relative ease, save for a small wince.

"I could've helped with that, you know." Mack states, cringing a little at the pain Fitz had put himself through.

"You shouldn't have to." He replies bitterly.

Mack tries to ignore the comment and kneels down to assess the damage. He's not surprised Fitz feels this way with the things Mack said to him before. The kid looks like an extra from a slasher film. It looks a hell of a lot worse because of the smearing. There are about a couple dozen scratches dispersed across his stomach and ribs and multiple groupings up and down his arms. Thankfully some of them didn't break skin and were just pink raised lines, but the ones that did were badly smudged all over. Mack snatches another washcloth from a cabinet in the other room to clean Fitz' cuts with since he probably won't feel comfortable enough to take an actual bath right here.

As he walks back into the bathroom, something makes him stop in his tracks for a moment. Fitz is adjusting his position and his back is fully visible to Mack for the first time.

Across sections of his back are crisscrossed patterns of barely visible scars. They're faint, but in the lighting of the bathroom the marks are more noticeable. Fitz turns suddenly and sees him staring. He knows exactly what had caught Mack's attention. Fitz turns back to his original position, back facing away from him. Mack knows what type of scars those are, and he also knows Fitz will most likely refuse to talk about it. Simmons might have some answers.

At the moment he just seems to be staring at his trembling hands, deep in thought. To pull Fitz out from the depths of his mind, Mack decides to pipe in something that was on his mind.

"So why were all of the lights off? Even I have to have a little light to see where I'm going in the middle of the night." Fitz looks up, a little surprised by the question.

"At the military facility I was held in, the uh... the lights would shut off every night at ten. They did give me a lamp after a while though so I could work— I didn't really do too much sleeping then, but before that I would a little bit. I just thought it might help." He admits before adding, "It didn't."

Mack can't figure out which is worse, being plunged into darkness at the drop of a hat, or given a source light only to work through the night. They each can screw someone up in their own way.

"This was my last clean shirt." Fitz mutters to change the subject, the balled up t-shirt still in his lap. Unfortunately, everyone has a limited amount of clothes since their previous base— and all of their belongings— were blown up, and then closed off for investigation. It also doesn't help that the small amount of clothes Fitz had seems to have been bloodied one by one over the past week. Fitz adjusts his position again so he's straddling the wall of the tub sideways, his back resting against the adjacent wall.

"It's alright. I'm sure we can find something in this place. It shouldn't be to hard to find something that will fit" Mack says. knowing full well that there can't be much that would be too small on his slim frame. Mack starts dabbing gently at the longer cuts with the wash cloth. Fitz barely reacts, having dealt with much worse in the past.

"I'm sorry you have to do this." Fitz says dejectedly. "And I'm sorry he— _I_ programmed the LMD that shot you. And about locking you in my cell... I really didn't know what they were doing. I'm sorry I went along with it, but I couldn't let Jemma and Elena go alone."

Mack notices how he called Yo-Yo 'Elena'. As if he's distancing himself, or doesn't feel worthy enough to use her nickname. Mack knows that he's partly to blame for making Fitz feel as if he needs to apologize for these things, and it makes him feel horrible.

"Hey, I get it." Mack states. "And I've already forgiven you. I know not all of it was your fault." Fitz rolls his eyes slightly and Mack unconsciously presses harder making Fitz flinch a little at the sudden sharp pain. "Sorry." Mack murmurs, angry with himself for slipping up like that and causing Fitz even more pain. Fitz nods in reply. "Listen... I've wanted to apologize for how I've been treating you. I haven't been very fair."

Mack can tell by Fitz' face that he still feels undeserving of the apology. Something new happens though. His face turns to resignation and he sighs.

"Thank you."

He's shocked that Fitz didn't shut it down right away. He seems to be trying really hard to get better which gives Mack a small sense little relief. He can also tell Fitz is dying to turn it around and somehow apologize again.

A few winces and washcloths later, Mack is finished cleaning off the blood from the younger man. Now he just has to find some clothes.

"Uh... stay here. I'm gonna go find you a new shirt." Mack announces. He notices Fitz is still shivering in the cold atmosphere of the concrete surroundings. "And some pants."

There wasn't really any clothes left in storage and pretty much everyone was sleeping so Mack just settled on letting Fitz use one of his own t-shirts until they can have someone buy more later. He grabbed one from his go-bag that had shrunk in the wash recently. It's not that he couldn't wear it anymore, it was just a little less comfortable than the rest and he figures the smaller he can use the better.

Mack was almost worried Fitz would be gone when he got back, but sure enough he's still sitting on the edge of the tub, head tilted back and eyes closed exposing the angry bruises on around his neck. The poor kid is exhausted. Mack skirts closer and lightly touches Fitz' shoulder, loathing having to wake him up. He jolts awake and thankfully doesn't freak out too much at Mack's presence this time.

"Hey, I got you some clothes." He denotes. Fitz nods and brings his left leg over the edge of the tub to join his right. Mack holds out a hand for Fitz to use as support, which he takes, and Mack pulls him up to his feet. He shimmies into the sweatpants that Mack got for him by himself, but this time Fitz allows Mack to help him put the shirt on, not having the energy to protest.

Mack has to hold back a snort at how huge the shirt is on Fitz. He's basically swimming in it, and it makes him look significantly younger than he really is. Fitz turns and glares at him like a teenager and Mack tries and fails to hide his amusement.

"What?" Fitz questions with a growing irritation.

"Nothing. It's just... You do _not_ look like you're almost thirty right now." Mack chuckles.

"I uh... I am thirty." Fitz states quietly. Mack thinks of it as a joke for a second but then he realizes Fitz was only twenty-nine at the diner. He forgot how much time had actually passed while they were in the future.

Fitz spent his thirtieth birthday in prison and nobody noticed. Damn. The bad just keeps on piling up.

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"It's okay... It wasn't all bad. Lieutenant Evans was nice to me sometimes. She snuck me some food on my birthday since it wasn't..." He stops himself from continuing, but Mack isn't having it. His voice drops low.

"It wasn't _what?_ " His tone makes Fitz stiffen, and he's ashamed that an involuntary shiver of fear crawls up his spine.

"Um... it wasn't... meal day." He elaborates, staring down as he fiddles with his hands nervously.

Mack closes his eyes, tightly clenching his jaw to simmer down the anger boiling beneath the surface. If he bursts it will only scare Fitz.

What happened to treating people like actual human beings? He thought government facilities had policies and guidelines to follow, like three square meals a day, or an allotted amount of time outside. Although, with General Hale being the head honcho there he's not _as_ surprised. He shakes his head and releases a slow breath.

"Listen... what they did isn't okay. You may think it was perfectly fine or it was what you deserved but it's not. No one deserves that. And yeah, you may have made some mistakes but we all have and you don't persecute any of us. To be honest... a small part of me is actually grateful that you made the Framework." Fitz looks aghast, silent questions dying on his lips. "I mean don't get me wrong, living under Hydra's oppression was no picnic, but I wouldn't trade the time I spent with Hope for the world." He admits, voice wavering towards the end. "So don't let everything bad that's happened make you forget all the good you've done."

Fitz clears his throat to try and dislodge the growing lump of emotion. He nods sullenly, knowing that Mack won't budge no matter how hard he protests. None of them ever do.

Maybe they're right...? Maybe he didn't deserve a few of the things that have happened?

"Thanks Mack."

He did it again. Mack is filled with a huge sense of accomplishment at the progress he's making.

"Anytime Turbo." The fondness he feels for his best friend emanates from his words. He can't stop himself from pulling the kid in for a tight hug, which Fitz returns in kind. He feels more like his brother than his _actual_ sibling does. Some might say that hugging another guy this tightly isn't very masculine, but screw stereotypes. What do they know?

Fitz' grip starts to loosen and Mack does the same only to find that Fitz' whole body has gone slack. Mack swears for second after he realizes it and tries to catch him before he hits the floor. He seems to only be asleep which is a relief.

_I guess he really was exhausted._

Mack picks him up for the final time this week and carefully lays him back in the bed. He pulls the blanket up to the younger man's shoulders, making sure to leave his feet uncovered. He thinks for a moment on how to proceed when Fitz wakes up. He's starting to forgive himself but Mack doesn't want to mess it up by saying or doing something wrong. Many of things could set Fitz on a self deprecating track. Any mention of the Framework, Coulson, Hydra, sometimes Daisy, Ruby, the fear dimension etc. AKA a lot. He needs something that will cheer Fitz up a bit.

Well, they missed his birthday, they could do a little something... but that has a chance of making him feel worse. Mack figures it's worth a shot. There's something he want's to track down.

Time to send Deke to the surface again.

oOo

Mack returns a few hours later now exhausted, and sits back in the chair, looking over at Fitz. He always seems so tense, even in sleep. Eyebrows drawn down, jaw tight. Mack hopes that his presence alone will be enough to keep the nightmares at bay, but something tells him that won't be the case. He holds Fitz' hand and waits a while for any inclination of a nightmare before starting to doze off himself. Fitz' fingers twitch in Mack's larger hand, instantly signalling Mack to wake up. It was obvious he was having a bad dream.

Mack squeezes his hand and softly reassures him a few times that everything's okay. That seems to calm him in his sleep a little bit. Mack leans back relieved and assumes his previous position before falling asleep once again.

That's how Jemma and Daisy find them them that afternoon (to which Daisy snaps a few pictures with her phone). Jemma is a little surprised that Mack is there, but glad since it seems like they finally talked.

"Wakey wakey, Sleeping beauty" Daisy intones, softly touching Fitz' shoulder with her right hand, her left cradling a box of Sugar Bombs cereal. His eyes shoot open and his head pops up quickly but falls back on the pillow after seeing who it was waking him. She turns to Mack who has just awakened as well. "You too, Prince Charming." She grins. "I need you guys to help with my mom." She says casually and starts crunching another handful of cereal. "Unless you wanted to eat first?"

"Nah, I'm good." Fitz replies.

Jemma sighs inwardly, not sure if his lack of interest in food is because of the same issues as before, or the mention of Jiaying's corpse. Mack notices her worn expression and stands up.

"You two go ahead we'll catch up." Mack states to Fitz and Daisy. Daisy looks only a little confused, and Fitz looks a little apprehensive but they leave without question, Fitz leaning a little on Daisy to support his ribs. Mack briefly hears Daisy ask Fitz what he's wearing before their voices disappear down the hall.

Simmons turns to him with a slightly worried look on her face. What does he want to talk to her about? After everything that's happened recently she can't stop her mind from wandering to the worst possible scenarios.

"What happened?" She instantly asks when the others are out of earshot.

"He had some pretty bad nightmares last night. I was coming to check on him and I heard him screaming." He says quietly. Jemma's posture sags with disappointment.

"I should've been here. He convinced me to sleep in our room last night. I shouldn't have given in so easily."

"Hey, it's not your fault. He was in a pretty dark place, and I don't think he would've wanted you to see him that way." Mack consoles. "There is something else though..."

She looks up, the worry making a reappearance.

"He scratched himself up in his sleep pretty good. It's like he was fighting with himself or something, but don't bring it up. I don't think he really wanted you to know but I figured you should. I think it would be best if we got him out of the infirmary. The new space might be making things worse."

She nods loosely. He's hurting himself in his sleep now. This needs to stop soon or else some day it might escalate again. Mack is right though, he should be back in their room with her where she can keep an eye on him and they can be a bit more comfortable.

"You're right. I'll bring him back to our room tonight. Thanks for letting me know."

"It's no problem." Mack replies sincerely. "Also, I had a question... I helped him get cleaned up after he scratched himself and I saw some scars on his back..."

Jemma knows where he's going with this. She had wondered the same thing once before. Still does to a degree.

"I don't know everything because he hasn't gone into detail with me, but he's had them ever since I met him. Based off the shape of them I would guess that they were from a belt... or something similar at least." He can tell it pains her to talk about it so he refrains from asking anything else.

It disgusts him that a parent could do something so brutal to their own child. Mack had amazing parents so he has a soft spot in his heart for anyone that had it rough as a kid.

"Thank you. You don't have to explain any further. I understand it's hard to talk about."

She nods again with watery eyes and turns around, heading for the lab to meet up with the others.

oOo

Later that night, Jemma takes Mack's advice and moves Fitz back to their room. After standing for so long working on Jiaying's skeleton Fitz is noticeably exhausted. She can tell he's trying really hard to hide it, but he looks about ready to drop any moment. They head back to their quarters which unfortunately has a single bed like the rest of them. Fitz refuses to take the bed, and collapses tiredly into the red armchair in the corner of the room, saying the chair is better for his ribs. That seems like complete rubbish to her but she knows there's no chance he'll give in at this point.

He's still wearing Mack's t-shirt since they weren't around many people throughout the day. She knows he would've felt embarrassed wearing it in front of the other agents, even though it wasn't that bad since he tucked it into his sweatpants.

She gets into some comfier clothes herself, turning to see that Fitz is already out cold, stretched out on the chair like a starfish. His legs are out straight, arms hanging limp over the sides, and his head is tilted to the side resting on the back of the chair. She pads over to him and smiles before kissing on the cheek and covering him up with an extra blanket.

Finally satisfied that he's okay for the time being, she slides into bed and snuggles under the covers and listens to the sound of his even breathing as she drifts off into a sound sleep.

oOo

_Burning._

_Bubbling._

_Suffocating._

_His flesh is on fire. The darkness is searing through his veins. He chokes on it grasping for purchase on anything stable. He can feel it taking him over, sending him under the surface to drown in the inevitable sense of despair that he tries to hard to overcome._

_The darkness takes form. A reflection on the surface of the ink. He can feel it underneath his fingertips. It's himself. It's his **other** self. The throat of the monster is in his hands._

_Use your training Leopold. Use what I taught you._

_He squeezes, digging his fingers into the neck of his reflection. Kill what you hate. Destroy it._ _It's hurts but he feels relief as it intensifies. The monster is struggling, dozens of slimy black hands claw at his arms with their sharp talons, desperately trying to stop him from ending it._

_The reflection changes._

_He is the monster. Choking out whatever else is left. He wants to stop but_ _—_

_Do it._

_End it Leopold._

_A growling voice breathes in his ear. His back is burning. A desperate yell rips out of his throat and he squeezes harder._

_Yes Father._

_I'm sorry._

_Buzzing increases in his ears, blood rushing to replace the ink._

_Fitz._

_No._

_**Fitz.** _

_Stop._

"FITZ!"

He blinks. He's back in his room, hands around Jemma's throat.

oOo

Jemma was awoken by the sound of a whimper. She instantly sits up and looks the clock. 4:17 AM. Being only half awake, she's confused at first before realizing the situation. She jumps up and goes over to the chair where Fitz is sleeping. His blanket has long since fallen to the floor and he's curled up in the chair, eyes scrunched shut. He's covered in sweat. He groans through his teeth in anguish.

She berates herself for not paying closer attention to him throughout the night. She grabs his shoulders to get his attention shaking them slightly.

"No, stop... Just leave me alone..." He pleads just above a whisper.

"Fitz, wake up. It's just a dream."

His breath hitches and he stills for a second making Jemma think that he's awake now.

She was wrong. His arms launch forward and his hands seize her neck, not tightly enough to cut off her air but enough to be concerning. His face _screams_ something wrong. He eyes are still closed but he looks pained and scared. Her shock is replaced worry that she won't be able to wake him up before he does something horrible. Her hands are rested on his around her throat and she silently begs for him not to do this.

"Fitz—" She says carefully, knowing he's dangerously on the edge. Tears forming in his shut eyes and a ragged shout escaping his throat, he squeezes tighter, bringing them both to their knees.

" _FITZ!"_ She yells again, pulling and scratching at his hands in her now desperation, re-opening the scabs on his arms.

His eyes snap open. She watches as his agonized expression turns to shock, and then revulsion. He lets go immediately and she crumbles into a kneeling position, rubbing her throat. He quickly slides away from her to the wall and curls into himself, shaking.

"No no no nonononono..." He mutters over and over again. He fists his hair in his hands tightly. "Not again— please not again, I'm sorry Jemma I'm— I'm sorry..." He shoves a hand against his ribs to inflict pain on himself, which deeply worries her. "I shouldn't have been here." He says in a horrified whisper.

"Fitz it's alright—"

"No— I did it again and I can't stop myself..."

This was a huge step back in his progress. Jemma feels tears form in disappointment that this occurred. Why does this always happen to them?

"Listen..." She scoots closer to him and tries to touch him but he put his arm out to stop her.

"No! Don't come near me!" He shouts. "I don't want to hurt you again..." He starts muttering incoherently to himself.

" _Hey!"_ She yells to get his attention. "You're going to listen to me right now, okay?"

He looks at her with such sorrow it takes her breath away.

"This is _not_ your fault. I know better than to wake someone in a night terror because they could become violent. We both know this!" She tries to reach him using logic. "Was it me that you were seeing?"

He shakes his head, wiping a stray tear with his trembling hands.

"Then you didn't do this on purpose. Fighting to accept the other side of you is causing a war within yourself, and that war is manifesting physically so that you end up hurting yourself or others! You need to accept that he's a part of you and move on." She moves closer, ignoring his protests. "Please... you can't keep doing this to yourself. I love you too much to watch you destroy yourself like this." He turns his head away for a second, desperately trying to shut down his emotions. "Just let it out. Tell me what your feeling and let whatever your feeling go so you can move on."

Fitz looks into her eyes and all the rest of his walls come crumbling down.

"I'm terrified that this is who I am now..." He admits. "Everything inside of me feels... different. I can see the way people look at me with pity or apprehension because they think I'll snap at any moment. Every time I do something, this voice is telling me that everything I do means nothing, that everyone would be better without me... that I'm weak. It never stops." She cups his stubbled cheek with her hand. "I need help."

That breaks her. She sniffs and wraps her arms around his shoulders.

"I know. And we'll be here for you this time." He tightly wraps his arms around her in return, tucking his head in her shoulder. They relish the feeling of comfort in each others embrace. She knows she softened the blow of the situation quite a bit, glad that he admitted needing help. This is some sort of progress, albeit not the best form. She feels an immense swell in her heart at finally being able to be in the arms of the man she loves once again.

They stay wrapped up together on the floor for quite a while, Jemma now asleep tucked against his chest with his chin resting atop her head. He couldn't bring himself to go back to sleep after everything that happened. He looks at the clock. 5:43. Everyone will be getting up soon. He kisses the top of her head and strokes his hand up and down her arm to rouse her from sleep. She sucks in a deep breath as she wakes.

"Jemma... We should get up, it's almost six." He whispers.

"Mmhmm." Jemma hums in reply and stretches before getting up. She gets dressed in her day clothes while Fitz washes his blood off of his arms from his re-opened scratches. He looks down at his own attire and sighs. He misses his button up shirts. A knock startles him from his thoughts. He glances at Jemma to make sure she's done dressing and opens up the door. Mack stands on the other side, holding a folded shirt and a small brown paper package. Fitz steps back to let him inside.

"Hey, I sent Deke into town to pick up a few things and I had him get you some clothes." He holds out the shirt. Fitz' face lights up a little.

"Yes!" He exclaims with delight, to the surprise of the other two. Fitz sees their shock and sheepishly dials it back. "Uh, thank you."

Mack and Simmons are both smiling. It was nice to see him have some happiness for the first time in a while.

"Also, I was able to track this down for you, since we missed your birthday." He holds out the package. Fitz seems shocked but mostly curious. He takes the package and looks at Jemma who urges him to open it, equally curious. Its about the size of small paperback book. He unwraps the brown paper from from the contents to reveal something he thought he'd never see again.

It was a picture frame with the image of the entire team from back at the Playground. It was one of the only pictures they had of everyone and Fitz thought he would never get it back. The group was sitting in various places around the couch in the living area, Fitz sitting between Mack and Hunter, Fitz and Hunter's arms hanging on each other's shoulders, each holding a beer. Bobbi was sitting to the left of Hunter on the arm of the couch, also holding a beer. Daisy was sitting sideways in an armchair, and Jemma was popping out from behind the couch with her arms wrapped loosely around Fitz' neck, their face right next to each other. May and Coulson were sitting comfortably next to each other on the other loveseat. Everyone had bright smiles on their faces and were having a good time. It was one of Fitz' favorite memories with the team.

"How did you find this?" He asks incredulously. Mack smiles.

"Well, I sent Deke out and had him contact Hunter— he says hi by the way— and he was able to pull some strings get a hold of this. All he said was some guy he knows named— Coots? was able to sneak in as one of the military guys that were clearing the Playground." Fitz smiles knowingly at the mention of Hunter and Coots. "I figured you could use some cheering up."

"Thank you, Mack. This is the best." He steps forward and gives Mack a quick hug.

"You're welcome, Turbo. Oh, and Daisy wanted to talk to you. She was in the kitchen last I checked."

"Oh, okay thanks." Fitz replies. He's too impatient to wait to change his shirt so he just leaves with it, most likely changing in a bathroom on the way to the kitchen.

Simmons turns to Mack with a smile.

"Thank you for doing that. I think it really did help."

"It's no problem. I knew he needed something to remind him of everyone that loves him." Mack states. "How did he do last night?"

"He... he had a pretty bad nightmare. I tried to wake him and he attacked me thinking I was his father or the Doctor, I'm not sure." Mack's eyes widen with concern. "I'm fine. I think he hurt himself more than me. But I talked with him afterwards and I think I really got through to him this time. He's really going to try to do better from now on." Mack sighs with relief.

"Thank God. I'm going to do my best to help as well."

"Thank you. He's going to need all the help he can get."

oOo

They both join the others in the kitchen and Jemma is surprised to see Fitz eating a bowl of cereal quite eagerly. Usually he pushes his food around and pretends to be eating when he's really just drowning in his own thoughts. Now, it seems Daisy and him are immersed in some random Sci-Fi movie she pulled up on her tablet. Jemma realizes that might be the key of getting him to eat more: distract his mind so he doesn't think of everything that usually ruins his appetite and he'll unconsciously eat his food in the process.

Unlike Daisy's Sugar Bombs (which gives Simmons a cavity just looking at them), it seems like he's eating a more plain cereal. Most likely to be more gentle on his stomach. Jemma gets herself a granola bar, which are surprisingly still good even though expired, and sits down with them as Mack pulls out a bag of beef jerky from the cupboards. She watches the two sitting next to her and smiles. It's nice to have the bus kids back together again.

All of the sudden, loud alarms blare causing them to jump and lights start to flash. They all straighten, ready for danger. Coulson's voice comes over the intercom explaining that the Lighthouse is going into lock-down mode.

_"_ _—which is good because there is currently a sizable alien spaceship overhead. Oh and, due to a... technical malfunction, the Lighthouse thinks we're under nuclear attack so we may be trapped inside for fifteen years...ish. I'm sure there's a way around that, so in the meantime there's no reason to panic. The Lighthouse survives the earth being cracked apart so: one flying saucer— probably no big deal."_ The intercom clicks off and they all look at each other.

Well... crap.

_Here we go again._

oOo

_**Epilogue** _

He's gone.

Fitz is gone and so is Coulson.

He died a hero: Saving Mack and Polly from their once destined deaths. After all he's been through he deserved better. _Deserves_ better.

Everyone isn't sure how to process everything, but the one thing they do know is that they can fix it. They can find the original Fitz frozen in Enoch's chronicom vessel orbiting somewhere in space and they can fix it. They get a second chance to be better. So they're going to do everything in their power to stop him from breaking this time.

They are going to find him and save him from himself.

_Screw the consequences._

* * *

_"A fighter never gives up. His scars are his ornaments. He may never be whole, yet he's bigger than all his battles and beautiful, even in his brokenness."  
― Mona Soorma_

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we've finally come to the end. I'm a little sad it's over. I hope you guys enjoyed taking this journey with me and are satisfied with the ending. 
> 
> I love all of you wonderful people and I hope to write more Fitz-centric AOS fics in the future since they seem to be rarer than his happiness lol. I'm super pumped for the premier tomorrow night, but I'm also scared for all of the pain that this season will inevitably be filled with. I'm still recovering from Endgame (x—x)
> 
> If you want to keep in touch with me, I do edits on Youtube under the name Emilatte and Instagram as emilatte.aos. I'll always be up for talking about Marvel and AOS if you wanna chat!
> 
> See you later everyone!


End file.
